


Samsara: Treading On Scorched Sand

by Shivani



Series: Samsara [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Identity Swap, M/M, Mood Whiplash, Time Skips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-19
Updated: 2019-01-08
Packaged: 2019-08-26 04:43:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 80,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16674709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shivani/pseuds/Shivani
Summary: Sequel toSamsara. Yet another life, though this one has the odd benefit or so.





	1. λ15: 01 : 1985

**Author's Note:**

> **1**. Why the hell not, basically.
> 
>  **2**. There’s nothing graphic with regard to the pairing and it’s by no means the focus. You’ll need to fill in most any juicy bits with your own damn imagination.
> 
>  **3**. Do I really need to say that some or all of the chapters are probably weird? Writing is my form of mental therapy, after all. I finished it, so it goes up.
> 
>  **4**. Still feeling exceptionally cynical, by the way.
> 
>  **5**. Plenty of stuff is excerpted or used in modified form from various HP books.
> 
>  **6**. A movie mentioned was released the year it comes up, but not until after it was mentioned in the story.
> 
>  **7**. Uh, right. The subtitle comes from a track in Persona 5.
> 
>  **8**. 1.0 (2018 11 08): Initial assembly.

(10 10 2018 - 08 11 2018)

## λ15  
01: 1985

When he woke up, it was not to a depressingly familiar ceiling. In point of fact, the ceiling looked distinctly like the underside of a staircase, which lent to the forming idea that he was in a cupboard tucked in beneath a set of stairs. In addition, there was a note scrawled in the rather fuzzy dust coating the underside of the steps.

It read: Let’s see how you do with an additional complication.

He sighed and shook his head slightly, absently noting that he seemed to be five years old which, with that one exception, was par for the course.

‘We have a problem,’ a distressed and angry-sounding Daemon said.

‘Yes,’ hissed Xeul (sounding disturbingly like a snake), followed quickly by a hiss from Mukuro.

‘What is it, then?’ he asked.

‘You’re possessed,’ Daemon replied, ‘and I don’t mean by us. There’s another soul in here, a partial one, and it’s quite vile. Get in here, Heul, and help us take care of this.’

He blinked a few times in sheer disbelief, then turned inward so he could assist his friends. After having spent years poking around inside the minds of others (when he wasn’t accidentally liquefying or exploding them) he had become quite familiar with the concept of entering his own mindscape.

He blinked again when he saw a hovering, gaseous, wavery sphere of malevolence giving off some seriously creepy vibes that brought to mind some of the psychotic whackjobs he had offed during his Varia life.

“Right,” he said. “Let’s drain it dry of any information it has, then banish the fucker.”

His friends all grinned with equal hints of madness and nodded.

A short time later (as defined by the curious aspect of time warping inside a mindscape, which meant it could have been anywhere from ten seconds to ten hours) he was back in the real world and wondering why he had so much black gunk on his forehead. “Fuck,” he muttered, then hunted around for a rag or something to clean up with, as well as get some bottled water out of storage.

‘So you’re most likely this Harry Potter person the shard mentioned,’ Daemon commented. ‘I can’t think of any other reason why that thing would have been lodged in your head given what we could discern of the night in question’s events.’

‘Joy. I assume this is to do with the “additional complication” and that I have this so-called magic, which is capable of doing things flames cannot.’

‘Uh…’ Mukuro sounded oddly hesitant. ‘A poke at your body’s memories isn’t looking good, Heul. I think you were abused before we woke up, or at least badly neglected. I expect one of us is going to have to make some changes around here.’

Tsuna rolled his eyes and sighed. ‘It also means the bodies we find for you guys—’

‘Magical,’ Hayato said firmly. ‘No fucking way are you going to some pansy-ass magical school without all of us.’

Chikusa coughed (it echoed, which was unpleasant). ‘Ideas as to how to first find said bodies?’

‘The school must have some way of locating students,’ Ken said. ‘So we break in and find out how they’re doing it. Once we figure out how to find the school, anyway.’

Tsuna pondered for a short time, then said, ‘All right. Mists will grab available bodies from surrounding area. That gives us four bodies to work with on this. Once we’ve tracked down children of the correct age to acquire… Preferably ones with parents or guardians who are freaked out by the presumable weirdness.’

‘So like our situation,’ Chikusa said, ‘but not exactly.’

‘Right.’

Tsuna was startled when someone banged on the cupboard door and screeched, “Get up! You need to make breakfast, freak!”

‘That has to change as soon as possible,’ Xeul said darkly.

‘We need bodies first, or…’ Tsuna nodded after a moment. ‘I expect at this age we’ll be in some sort of half-day schooling, so once we get back from that, Daemon, you take over long enough to fix the woman and anyone else, if necessary. Then we can get on with finding temporary bodies for the Mists and get our research started.’

‘We should probably look into emptying out a neighboring house and anchoring a Bounding Box,’ Hayato pointed out.

‘Hopefully some of the bodies will be orphans,’ Ken said. ‘Or can be acceptably made into orphans. Then no one will get too upset when they vanish.’

More banging sounded at the door.

Tsuna rolled his eyes and opened the cupboard door, only to be dragged off into a kitchen and glared at. The woman was clearly Occidental and her accent was English, so at least he had some clue what he was supposed to be making.

The packages of bacon, carton of eggs, and loaf of pre-sliced bread were a hint, too.

A short time later he was given a crust of bread (that the woman purposefully burnt after the fact) for his breakfast, a half-filled glass of tepid water, and packed off to get dressed. It being a Saturday, there was no need to worry about school, though apparently he was in Year One.

‘We need to check education laws in this country,’ Chikusa said. ‘If we can get out of having to deal with this nonsense, all the better.’

‘Agreed,’ he said. ‘Once we get the woman under control, her husband this evening, and dissuade the boy from bothering us, we can hunt for Mist bodies so we can get on with acquiring a house.’

‘I don’t think we need to possess the woman,’ Xuel stated, ‘so it’d be better for me or Yeul to handle them. And getting any and all information we can out of them about the situation.’

Tsuna thought it over and nodded.

After the piglet he was privileged to call a “cousin” had wandered off outside to “play” they got to work. Tsuna let Daemon take the driver’s seat so he could use his special ability to bring the giraffe-like woman of the house under their control.

Tsuna wondered at times if doing so enough times would teach his own soul how to pull off the same trick or not.

‘Maybe,’ was the internally-directed response.

Daemon rifled through Petunia’s mind for every and any bit of information regarding their current situation. It seemed that Petunia had been to a Diagon Alley place once, when her sister Lily had gone the first time for shopping, and remembered it quite clearly. Hatred had a habit of gouging things like that firmly into memory.

‘Assuming we can get out of bothering with school we’ll have years to find bodies and form a proper game plan, though I’d prefer having a body sooner rather than later,’ Hayato said, sounding impatient.

Tsuna hummed. ‘Right. We get Vernon tonight, the boy when he comes back in for lunch. Considering that Petunia insists we’re here for some blood protection thing, it’d be best if we get a house directly beside this one, or behind it, I suppose. Okay, let’s get to the library to do some research.’

Daemon borrowed control again long enough to swipe a wad of cash out of Petunia’s purse for general purposes, and then they were off. The library provided the necessary information—that being, home-schooling _was_ an option in the UK. That being the case, they immediately set off to infiltrate the school and track down the people responsible for the records, so they could be altered to reflect the change, and also to get the address of the person in charge so they could be modified as well.

A short stop was made at a local fast food place to get something to eat and forge a letter (Mukuro took over for that part, as his handwriting was still the best) to be left with the headmaster-principle-whatever of Little Whinging Primary.

With that out of the way they took the time to have what masqueraded as lunch at № 4 Privet Drive, then headed back out to inspect the houses to either side. Given that nearly every house in the neighborhood was a duplicate they chose based on who lived in each of them, finally deciding to “convince” the occupants of № 6 to find a sudden, pressing need to complete a private sale—after Tsuna had converted enough gold to English Pounds, that is.

‘Same old. We need to figure out a decent market price, get them out…’

Various souls inside him conveyed agreement.

‘Let’s go looking for potential Mist hosts, preferably amongst people who don’t deserve to live in the first place. We can hop a train to London in the morning, I suppose. I’ll do up an anchored disguise tonight. For now let’s just head back to the library and check the history section.’

That evening he pulled a ring out of storage and anchored a disguise to it, of his original adult appearance. If by chance he should run into a mafioso who recognized Giotto di Vongola, well, a bit of memory modification would be in order. But the chances of that happening should be low.

The next morning he blew off breakfast, filched rather a lot in ready cash from the walrus, and took off for the train station, ducking into a public restroom long enough to put on his disguise. On arrival in London he went prowling via _Between_ for likely candidates.

Daemon snagged the first one and took the chap over, a rather seedy looking fellow who squinted overmuch, but that was corrected the moment his appearance changed to one dear and familiar to Tsuna.

Mukuro went next (incidentally, while Daemon was off gathering funds), followed shortly by Xeul.

Tsuna thought it was a wonderful thing that souls could not be quantified in terms of volume, else his poor body would be incredibly cramped, and it was already quite scrawny and underfed. It was going to take a lot of damn hard work to gain muscle and correct the ravages of malnutrition.

They reconvened at a café for a meal and to discuss their plans.

“I’m thinking the house is the first thing. We have close to six years before the letter is supposed to arrive.”

“What about that nonsense with you having something to do with that terrorist? Do you think the school would find it peculiar that six others are living in the house next door? Not to say that we can’t fix that, but…”

Tsuna shrugged. “I’m not getting any feelings about it, but perhaps it’s too soon for that. We’ll fix it if it’s necessary, when the time comes. So, we need to find someone who’ll exchange gold for pounds, or acquire enough, whichever. I think for now we can just go two and two in the extra bedrooms.”

“We’ll ensure they don’t even notice,” Daemon said, his expression briefly settling on “I am evil, fear me” before smoothing out to one of angelic innocence.

“And now that we’ve been here, we can skip that horrible train ride,” Mukuro said with a shudder of distaste.

“I do think we should have anchored Bounding Boxes over those two rooms,” Xeul stated. “Which reminds me, we need to update their programming to ensure Vernon’s sister does not come to visit until after we’ve acquired a house.”

Tsuna nodded. “By the way, I noticed that the eye came through.”

Mukuro smiled. “It’s nice. I spent all that time learning how to use it, and now I get to keep it, minus the torture.”

“This food is awfully bland,” Daemon complained. “Are they afraid of spices or something?”

Tsuna eyed the man behind the bar with vague curiosity. He was bald, toothless, and smiled far too much for it to not be some kind of cover. Being a mafioso for so long had a way of etching suspicion onto the soul.

“I seem to have lost my brochure,” he said eventually, his Japanese-accented English marking him as a tourist rather than a native. “Will you help us into the alley, please?”

“Of course! Of course!” the man said cheerfully, taking a moment to dry his hands off on a towel hanging from the belt at his waist. “It’s just this way, out the back.” He led them off through the pub and through a door which exited into a small outdoor alcove of sorts. The man, who had yet to offer a name, tapped his wand just so and beamed at them as the bricks began to rearrange themselves into an archway.

A serene smile slid into place and he nodded at the man. “My thanks.”

“Sure! Stop in for a meal on the way back if you’re hungry,” the man said, then bustled off.

“Come along now, children,” Tsuna said. “Let us visit a book shop, and devour it.”

‘And look for a decent place to step in and out of,’ Hayato commented.

‘Agreed.’

Four hours later they returned to the Leaky Cauldron for a meal. The place wasn’t quite as clean looking as they might have liked, but it was passable. Orders for cottage pie and butterbeer were given, and once those were delivered a Bounding Box went up quietly to discourage people.

“That was productive,” he said, then took a bite of his meal, only to scrunch up his nose. “Is this potato or library paste? And I specifically said cottage pie, not shepherd’s pie. Why does this have lamb in it?”

Daemon set his fork back down and sighed. “All right, we’ll make it disappear and eat elsewhere. Let’s move on. Our present goals.”

“We need a way to find bodies,” Mukuro said promptly. “I imagine their government has a way?”

“Or the school,” Xeul said. “We could check both.”

“Well, given what we got from Petunia, they keep an eye out for underage magic, and magic in the so-called muggle world,” he said. “The school is a thousand years old and the Ministry wasn’t even created until well after that. So, I think the school has its own way of telling. We should check both.”

‘You’ll need to be at both,’ Chikusa pointed out, which Tsuna promptly relayed before replying, “For the Bounding Boxes, yes. The only location we have for the school is Scotland, so for that we’ll have to floo to Hogsmeade.”

“And hope that we can see the school,” Daemon said, “otherwise you’ll be leading us. If we can find someone who can access whatever method they use, however…”

Tsuna nodded. “Easy enough to temporarily convert them to an ally. The Ministry first, since it’s in London. If one of you would…?”

Mukuro nodded and slipped out of the booth.

Xeul got a waterproof bag out of storage and slopped all their food into it, sealed it, and set it beside him, presumably to throw away back in the normal world. If nothing else they knew not to take names on faith when it came to magicals.

The butterbeer, on the other hand, wasn’t terrible, rather like butterscotch, but mild enough not to make a person sick. Proper butterscotch was best savored in small pieces, in his opinion. He was somewhat surprised that the drink was alcoholic given that there were children in the pub drinking it.

“I see no reason why you wouldn’t be able to see the school,” he said idly. “After all, none of you had trouble seeing the Leaky Cauldron. Perhaps being active is considered a type of magic here?”

“Excellent point,” Daemon replied as Mukuro slipped back into the booth.

“We have an entry, though it’s more than a bit ridiculous. I suggest that we do that now to get our bearings, then go have a decent lunch.”

“Right, we’re off, then.”

The Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes turned out to be a gold mine in terms of information, specifically, the records of the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad. While it was true that they worked equally to squash the outbursts of magical-raised and muggle-raised, it was by far more likely for them to be called out to a household in the muggle world, for children unaware they were magical in the first place, muggle-born or half-blood.

The squad was kind enough to note down details about the child in question, such as blood status, guardians, and any actions taken (such as obliviating people). They stepped away with a list of names and addresses to check into.

“All right,” he said as he slid plates of food onto the table. A nearby window (showing his mindscape, amusingly enough) revealed Ken, Chikusa, and Hayato, who were eyeing the food with wistful longing.

“We should trick out a laptop or something,” Hayato said. “Make it seem like we’re chatting over an app or something, rather than it being what it is.”

“Certainly an idea,” he replied, picking up his fork. “All right, we have names. Now we need to go figure out which bodies to take. We can still check in at Hogwarts, but from what we’ve read, the only school in the UK is Hogwarts, so it’s not like they’d be getting letters for elsewhere.”

“Which makes it pretty damn obvious there’s something wrong with how few children there are each year,” Chikusa pointed out.

“How many of those should be muggle-born children, who end up getting killed off by Death Eaters?” Ken said. “You know, all those poor, weak-willed souls who were so easy to place under the Imperius Curse and therefore got off for the low, low price of a campaign contribution?”

Tsuna grimaced. “Well, much as I’d like to get straight to the killing of defective people, we have no way of knowing right now who does that sort of thing. Let’s get bodies first, then we can go on a rampage.”

“And see which, if any of them, know anything about further soul pieces,” Xeul said. “If those are tethering Voldemort’s spirit to the world, and allow for him to be resurrected, such as it is, we need to take care of them. They are a clear danger. If anyone ever suspected that the scar contained one…”

Tsuna grimaced again. “They’d want me dead if they were of the so-called Light—which to me sounds more like those who stick their heads in the sand—and kept alive but probably insensate by those of the Dark.”

One of the Mists helpfully hovered the list near the window so those still trapped inside Tsuna’s soul could get up to speed.

“Priority on those with unhappy households.”

A general sound of agreement went round.

The seven of them were arrayed around the sitting room in various indolent poses, all busy reading everything they could get their hands on when it came to the wizarding world. Unfortunately, none of the muggle-born children they had borrowed had even a hint of flames. If they had them latently—for in theory every person should have at least one aspect—they were buried so deeply that Samsara couldn’t find them.

Sadly, that simply meant that no one gained any additional flames to their souls.

Xeul had been the one to brave the floo system and take a trip to Hogsmeade. While there he sent spies off to the school looming in the distance across an appropriately named Black Lake. With that knowledge and an opened window, it allowed Tsuna, Daemon, and Mukuro to send their own spies and open their own windows.

Their intent was to map the school as best they could, and also search for anything of use not already owned by someone. Though, in the case of someone who was clearly defective, they certainly considered it. As it was, those people were tagged, to potentially be dealt with later, such as with tragic accidents.

Ken had become Kenton Selle, a muggle-born with very religious parents who were already looking at the child as if the Devil had come to roost. It was no trouble at all to make them believe their son had been packed off to a deprogramming facility and would never darken their door again. They had signed away any and all rights to the “manager” of the fictitious place, who just so happened to be Heul.

Chikusa was now Clay Elliot, a muggle-born orphan. He had been adopted by Heul. Daemon had become Yule Vos, Xeul had become Zane Ashwill, Mukuro was Matt Rushford, and Hayato was Hale Graver.

“You know,” he said conversationally, “I’m not adverse to the Tsow—assuming he is a Tsow as he generally is—being caught dead to rights doing something naughty and ending up dead or in Vendicare after my counterpart has been born.”

His guardians looked up with bloodthirsty expressions of happiness.

“Which also leads us the topic of the local Daemon.”

“Right,” said Daemon and Xeul in unison. “If we do this right, we could potentially get him to keep an eye on the local Tsuna, to ensure nothing happens to him.”

“Since we’ll have the time,” Hayato said, “I think we should plan to live in Japan for some time, especially around the time the old man would try to seal him. We should check to see if there’s any magic that could help, as well.”

He nodded. “There’s no reason why we can’t disappear from the magical world after school is done with, and move on to more familiar topics. We read everything we can get our hands on, legally or illegally, and then we move against his known minions, to see what we can get out of them. Any of those soul pieces we can find ahead of time…”

“We will be restricted when we’re at that school, so yes,” Chikusa said. “We don’t know who he was before then, though. Do you think the old man might?”

The Mists exchanged a look.

“We’ll try it via window at first,” Daemon said, “and if that doesn’t work, I or Xeul will go in person to get the information.”

Mukuro nodded complacently. His special talent—now that he possessed it—worked quite differently from Daemon’s, and was better suited for other things.

“So tonight?” he asked, setting aside the book he had just finished and selecting another one.

“Yes, while everyone is asleep.”

“Tom Marvolo Riddle, son of Merope Gaunt and a muggle man also named Tom Riddle, supposedly the result of a love potion union. A sad tale. She died shortly after giving birth, having lived long enough to name the boy. He was raised in an orphanage, where his peculiarities did nothing to endear him to the other residents.”

“So he was bullied,” Tsuna said flatly.

“And turned into a right terror because of it, potentially aided by mental instability brought on by severe inbreeding in the Gaunt line. They thought nothing of marrying brother to sister to ‘keep the blood pure’,” Daemon said with revulsion. “He could talk to snakes, which is an ability now thought to be a mark of evil for some stupid reason.”

“Right, no letting people know I can talk to snakes, if I picked that up,” he said dryly. “Or I do, and we all get into Hufflepuff.”

Ken snickered. “That’s also something to decide, which house gives us the most benefit with the least drawbacks. Slytherin might allow us to rule the house through sheer terror, but it would set quite a few people against us.”

“Hufflepuffs are seen as loyal, hardworking duffers. Good for camouflage, but they might expect us to join the cult,” Hayato said.

“Ravenclaw are the allegedly smart ones,” Chikusa said, “but they might also be the sorts to ask intrusive questions and be a little too observant.”

“And Gryffindor is the house of cannon fodder,” Mukuro said. “It would provide cover in the event of stupidly heroic actions, though. We could get away with a lot in that house from an outsider point of view. I expect people would shake their heads and sigh, then dismiss it all as Gryffindor foolishness.”

“That and apparently this body’s parents were in Gryffindor,” Tsuna pointed out. “People seem to take pride in that for some reason, like a relative’s accomplishments are somehow theirs or reflect well on them. Also, the whole bit about allegedly offing the Dark Lord.” He rolled his eyes at the simplistic thinking of magicals.

“Maybe we’ll get lucky and have a room to ourselves, then,” Xeul said. “There’s seven of us, and an average of five per house per gender, though it’s more likely two of us will end up with complete strangers.”

Tsuna shrugged. “So we use clones to fake them out and all room together anyway, plus put up an anchored Bounding Box to keep everyone out.”

“Will that work against those house-elf things _Hogwarts: A History_ mentioned?” Ken asked.

“I don’t see why not,” he said. “They’ve minds.” He glanced at his twins.

They nodded. “We’ll check into it.”

“Next order of business,” he said. “Thoughts on acquiring a house in Hogsmeade?”

Approving nods went around the table and Mukuro said, “I’ll take care of it, though I would like Hayato with me on that.”

Hayato nodded agreeably.

“Next: research on all known minions of the Dark Lord and where we can reasonably expect to find them.”

Ken and Chikusa nodded. “We’ll go through the _Daily Prophet_ archives to start,” Chikusa said, “and move on to whatever we can get from the Ministry archives. Failing that, we’ll need a Mist to help grease the wheels if our own flames won’t quite do.”

“All right. I am going to read up on Azkaban, then, since I expect we’ll be needing to figure out a way in to interrogate the imprisoned minions at some point.”

Breaking into Azkaban was at first a matter of finding the port of call for the boat that ran the line between the coast of Scotland and the island Azkaban was built on. Spies were set on the boatmen (for not everyone could afford a portkey to the island itself, or even get permission for one) along with a window trained on them.

From there it was a simple issue of scouring the prison levels for the Dark Lord’s minions. The archives had been useful in pointing out names and general descriptions, but given the conditions the captives lived under (24/7 with dementors wasn’t good for anyone’s health or life span), those could only be used as basic guidelines.

There were plenty of people incarcerated there for other crimes, even minor ones, which only made it plain that wizards were, in general, disgusting wastes of humanity if they thought unending torture was the correct response to even minor infractions of the law.

‘Kami-sama,’ he thought. ‘Even the Vindice aren’t that horrifyingly cruel. The worst you’d suffer there is to be sent to sleep. They don’t outright torture you every hour of every day. You’re free to dream.’

It took a week to go through the entire prison, but they located a number of Death Eaters. Barty Crouch Jr was deceased, but others were still alive, having not succumbed. Antonin Dolohov, the three Lestranges, Augustus Rookwood—he was of special interest, having worked in the Department of Mysteries—Travers, and a few nonentities such as the Snyde couple.

For their first test the Mists stepped into a mostly unused corridor and Tsuna set up an anchored Bounding Box, the point of which was to determine if the dementors would be affected, and if so, if they would notice anything wrong.

Best case scenario was that they would reroute around the invisible obstruction and be generally clueless.

They were, it seemed.

Or if not, they either failed to notify the Ministry, or did so in a way that Samsara was unable to see.

“A calculated risk, but let’s go for it,” he said. “We need the information. Thoughts on who to go after first?”

“Let’s try Rookwood,” was Hayato’s suggestion.

There was no disagreement, so he nodded. “All right. We know from watching the patrols that they leave them alone at night. We’ll go in at two o’clock? I’ll set up a Bounding Box to keep us safe, while you guys do the interrogation.”

Chikusa pursed his lips and shifted. “Once we have all of them interrogated, thoughts on disposing of them?”

“Bodily or mentally?” he asked.

“Mentally would be less suspicious. If they’ve got no minds, even if they were broken out they’d be useless.”

“I don’t have a problem with it. They are the enemy of this body, after all, and it’s unwise to leave a capable enemy behind to snap at your heels. Anything else…? All right, let’s prep for tonight, then.”

Rookwood was a font of information, especially the bit about where they stored their time turners. They may or may not come in handy, but swiping a handful was only common sense. Seven and a spare, precisely. Mukuro volunteered to empty out his storage and shove one in there to see if something horrifying would happen after they located and yanked them through a window.

Aside from that, and the information about a prophecy regarding the Dark Lord and Harry Potter, Rookwood was not of much use.

Once they had a list of names from him regarding marked Death Eaters and unmarked supporters, Daemon wiped his mind of anything resembling memories and left him as blank as an erased chalkboard.

“I wonder if a seal like the one they keep using on you would block off their magic?” Ken mused once everyone was assembled again.

“We’ll see if he has the primal urge to drink, or if he’ll die of dehydration. We can try a seal, though. If these people are still alive by the time we see signs of the Dark Lord being active, I vote we off them,” Hayato said with a scowl. “It’s still an issue of not leaving an enemy at your back, and if the news reports are at all accurate, it’s only logical that Riddle would break out his people once he had the opportunity.”

“In the meantime, we need to set up a system for these names,” Mukuro said. “A whiteboard or something, so it’s easily on display. Maybe a backup on one of the laptops.”

Tsuna sighed, more out of weariness than anything else. Childish bodies did require their sleep, after all. “Yes. We’ll do that first thing, and go after one of the Lestranges next.”

Bellatrix revealed a very interesting tidbit of information regarding her vault; she had a soul shard in there, embedded in a fancy cup purported to once belong to Helga Hufflepuff. Well, she did not _know_ it was any such thing, but the reverence for it in her mind spoke of just how highly the Dark Lord valued it, which meant it was worth investigating.

Once she’d been drained dry of information they moved on. Her husband and brother-in-law were less informative, but still contributed the odd name to the list before being wiped. Unfortunately, aside from names, none of the others were of much use, so they were wiped.

They would visit again in two weeks to see if any of them survived and, if they had, to be sealed. All else failing, they would kill them for being defective. Bellatrix had kept her mind, but only because they were uncertain what sort of protections the goblins had on vaults, and they might need her to get at the cup. If all went well, her mind would be also wiped.

“So, from this list,” he said, eyeing the whiteboard, “we can try to classify each name as greater or lesser. Piddly minions probably don’t know much or weren’t trusted enough to secure one of those soul shards, never mind know where one might be or what it might be. I am assuming at this point—and feel free to laugh at me if I end up being wrong—that he would entrust these disgusting soul shards to those most enamored of him and least likely to fuck up with them.”

“I’d put Lucius Malfoy near the top then,” Mukuro said. “He seems the type. He’s got enough money to buy his way out of nearly anything, and has influence at the Ministry.”

“Karkaroff is probably out,” Daemon said. “He did sell out his fellows, after all. We can leave him for later.”

Xeul frowned for a moment, then looked at Tsuna. “Is your intuition willing to chime in?”

“Uh… Good question.” He sat back and relaxed, staring without really seeing at the list of names. After a lot of staring one name seemed to stand out from the others, one Regulus Black.

“He’s dead, though,” Hayato said. “I wonder what the connection is. The Blacks are a Dark family from what we’ve uncovered. Wait a minute, something is wrong here.”

“Yeah,” Ken said, scratching his jaw. “This guy had an older brother. What happened to him? Was he a Death Eater, too? Because if so, why wasn’t it in the papers?”

A look went round the table. “Okay, so we need to go back and see if he’s in there. If so, we need to interrogate him. If he’s not, we have to come up with a different plan. Either way, with the name being highlighted, so to speak, and the mystery of his brother, we need to research more about that branch of the Black Family. Are his parents still alive? Where did they live? Can we find a way to infiltrate?”

His twins immediately went into a huddle while Mukuro started a discussion about the best ways to hunt down the information they needed with the other three.

Several days later they met again to discuss what new information they’d gained. There was no obvious evidence of Sirius Black at Azkaban, but there was the oddity of a black dog in one of the cells, which made no sense whatsoever unless the dog in question was an animagus.

“Is it even possible to enter the mind of an animal?” he asked, and got confused shrugs in return.

“I’m not about to risk mine on the off chance it works,” Mukuro said firmly. “Dying is one thing. I’d just acquire another body. But my mind being damaged? Hell no.”

“If it’s a person, do you suppose they would read a note and willingly transform back? Because according to the books we’ve read, you’re not supposed to be able to do wand magic in Azkaban. Clearly, internal magic is fine, or he’d not be able to transform. And on a side note, assuming he’s not guilty of whatever it is they didn’t charge him with, should we have a spare body handy to leave behind as a decoy?”

Tsuna frowned. “He could be mental from being in there. Is going into the mind of the insane a danger to you guys?”

A pause interposed itself, one of mild confusion.

“We don’t know?” Daemon offered lamely.

“Fuck. Okay, change of plan. I am not risking any of you for an unknown, not happening. So here’s what we’ll do. We figure out where Sirius and Regulus lived and search the place. Maybe we can find some clues. We also need to see about finding that vault at Gringotts. So, twins, which job do you want?”

The two exchanged a look. “The vault.”

“Sure. Mukuro, will you assist me with the Black home? Ken, Chikusa, and Hayato can help with research, of course, unless there’s something else you’d prefer to be checking. There’s plenty to be looking into as it is.”

“I saw a reference to something called the Fidelius Charm,” Chikusa said. “It came up with regard to how your body’s parents were hidden. I’m going to check more into that. If we do find these soul pieces we’ll need to protect them. If they’re in items I rather doubt they can be dispersed the same way as the one in the scar. An extra layer of security won’t hurt. It’s either that or we get a safety deposit box.”

Ken coughed. “I know it’s annoying, but we need to practice using the new names. Ken is still fine for me with the new name, and Yeul, but the rest…”

Various sighs sounded and heads nodded.

“Ugh,” he said. “Harry. What a name. And I don’t even dare have a nickname of Heul, just in case.”

“It’s a princely name,” Mukuro said facetiously.

He snorted. “Sure, if the name was actually Henry. All right, let’s get to work. The sooner we get this done, the sooner we can learn things that will make our school years a complete and utter bore.”

Bellatrix Lestrange’s personal vault was not that difficult to locate in the end, merely tedious. A dragon guarded the door, but patient surveillance showed that goblins had devices called clankers and the dragons were conditioned to fear that sound. Once the twins knew that it was a simple matter of illusion to force the beast back so that Tsuna could set up a Bounding Box and have time to harmonize his way through the wall, rather than risk touching the door.

The second he was in and had a proper visual he stepped back out via _Between_ and called up a window so that his twins could see the interior. As Xeul had yet to repack his storage, he was the one to suck the cup in to be spat out at the house for safekeeping.

With that out of the way, Bellatrix Lestrange’s mind was wiped clean.

If they weren’t all dead in a fortnight, they would return long enough to seal them in the hopes it would block their magic.

Research into the Ministry archives had revealed the location of the Black townhouse, so after a walk down Grimmauld Place spies were sent in. Unfortunately, if there was anyone in residence, windows were never left open, so Tsuna was forced to again harmonize through a wall in order to get a proper visual.

Mukuro promptly set to spying out the interior of the townhouse and reported back that only a small creature resided there. Given that there were similar heads all mounted on one wall, he came to the conclusion that they were house-elves, such as mentioned in _Hogwarts: A History_ , and the living one likely territorial and belligerent.

“No matter,” Mukuro said. “If I find anything of interest I’ll just acquire it through the window. I’ll keep an eye out for anything that looks to be related to the founders of that school.”

“We can split floors?” he suggested.

Mukuro nodded. “I’ll check to see if there’s a basement level. If not, I’ll go to the first floor.”

“Right.”

They found an ornate gold locket in a cabinet in the drawing room on the first floor, with a serpentine ‘S’ in green jewels—likely emeralds, but for all Tsuna knew they were peridots.

“Unless the thing has something to do with a member of House Black and a name starting with ‘S’…” Mukuro trailed off.

“Toss it into an iron box like the cup and we’ll figure out any spells we can use to see if the thing is evil,” he said. “I have my doubts about being able to use our Mist Flames to do the trick, but—” He eyed Hayato. “Storm Flames might. Put it in a box and we can test if you’re up for it, someplace not here.”

Hayato nodded. “Yeah. And if that works, I’ll take care of that cup, too. If that doesn’t work, we can find some of the best acids available to try. If things were chosen based on their historical value—taken from the example of this alleged Hufflepuff’s Cup—then the guy might expect that no one from the magical world would ever dare destroy the items, and instead covet them.”

“I’m going to do more research on the Founders and any artifacts they were known for,” Chikusa said quietly.

“I’ll track down a spot we can do the test,” Ken said, then got up to look at maps.

A shame Google Maps hadn't been created yet. That was nearly a decade away. Perhaps contacts in the mafia world would graciously provide passcodes to satellites presently in use. He made a note to ask the twins about that.

Once the locket and cup were destroyed—Storm Flames worked just fine, and wasn’t it odd that a ghostly face appeared for each, screaming when they did—they settled in for both more research and learning about spells, runes, rituals, and so forth. One day per week was set aside for checking into mafiosi in the UK, as well as checking the state of famiglie in other countries, to establish what was the same and what differed.

Tsuna shuddered for a moment thinking of the possibility of a female Dino having to suffer through Reborn’s torture. Or worse, a female Reborn.

He had no problem playfully flirting with other men, as most of them would never take it seriously. Women were another story altogether, in his experience. If Reborn were female, he couldn’t flirt with him! Or accuse him of flirting with Tsuna! That would wreck at least half his fun!

“I think we’re going to have to know the right spells before we go after any other of these soul pieces. We’ve been uncommonly lucky in my opinion,” Hayato said. “They could have been cursed. The one in Tsuna’s head sure as hell put up a fight from where I was watching. Imagine what the others could do if they were handled or worn. And there might be spells or whatever on them to compel someone to do just that.”

Tsuna nodded. “Excellent point. In fact… Has anyone tracked down wizarding shopping areas in other countries? We could step over, in disguise, and acquire wands now. I don’t think we could use them here at the house, because if this body is a celebrity, I imagine they’d be keeping an eye out for wand magic around here. Nothing saying we couldn’t go to a spot outside Hogsmeade and practice.”

“Just to be safe, I’ll do a bit of checking at the Ministry,” Daemon said. “Get the facts as are written into law, as well as get ideas on where other enclaves are we can investigate.”

“So we need to buy or acquire any book we don’t have that we can get our hands on.”

“I’ll poke around Knockturn Alley,” Mukuro volunteered.

“I’m going to send a window back to the Black townhouse and more closely investigate that library there,” Xeul said.

“I’m going to start compiling a list of expected spells to know by year according to those guidelines we liberated from the Ministry,” Hayato stated.

Chikusa and Ken exchanged a look. “I’m going to check into the electives,” Ken said, and Chikusa followed with, “And I will check into more esoteric things, such as that reference I saw to something called Occlumency.”

“And I,” he said, “will start on dinner. I was thinking of a roast, maybe…” The anticipatory looks on his family’s faces decided him. He trotted off to the kitchen with a smile. Maybe he would also consider a cheesecake soon.

“A house has been purchased in Hogsmeade,” Mukuro announced at lunch. “I’m sure the Lestranges won’t mind us having ‘borrowed’ their gold. I was able to get a very good deal on the place, though we declined to see about getting it hooked up to the floo system. Don’t see the point.”

“Well, yeah,” Ken said. “You guys can go _Between_ and the rest of us can—ah, shit, should we clear that with the local Vindice, us using portals? Just because the bunch from our last life were pleased to teach us doesn’t mean this lot will appreciate it, even if we all have physical bodies.”

“If we use them we’ll be on their radar, and they might be unhappy. If we’re upfront, they might still be unhappy, but at least forewarned about activity from us and that we’re perfectly aware we’re active. Except, of course, if they want to know _how_ we learned. Shit. I don’t want their eyes on us so soon. No using portals unless it’s an emergency. I know it potentially hampers us, but…”

The non-Mists nodded.

“If we can track down all Death Eater vaults, we could loot them bare,” Xeul said, “though I have to wonder if the goblins would revolt once those poor, misunderstood pillars of society realized all their gold has gone missing. Anchored box again?”

“Um… Make them suddenly a hell of a lot more frugal with their funds,” he said, “and incurious as to any discrepancies. My concern there would be having to keep a constant watch on those anchors, just in case someone isn’t quite taken in and starts trying to figure out what happened. I don’t have an issue with finding the vaults, or even looting the vaults of incarcerated minions—since they were sentenced to life, and a number of them have no immediate family to worry about—but I don’t feel right about having so many anchors out of our immediate holdings. The idea of it makes me uneasy.”

Xeul shook his head. “All right, that idea’s off the table, then. I’ll not quibble with your intuition. The only time it seems to fail or kick in too late is when you’re about to suffer a hilariously stupid and fatal accident.”

Tsuna blushed and ducked his head for a moment. “Thanks so much for the reminder,” he said dryly.

Xeul smiled at him sunnily.

He sent a sarcastic one back. “I honestly wonder how many so-called pure-bloods keep vaults in their manors or homes. Maybe we should consider investigating that alongside which defectives get taken out. They couldn’t very well blame goblins for missing gold if it disappeared out of their own homes, along with anything else of value. Harry Potter is still too young for anyone to ever suspect of being a thief and murderer, after all, nor his adorable little friends.”

“I suggest that we start from the bottom when we do get going,” Daemon said. “We might not get much out of those ones, but news of it might spread slower. The other option would be to do what you did back in the Checkers universe, when you went bugnuts.”

Tsuna sent a flat raspberry at his friend. “You’re referring to the thallium payloads via Mist-Earth wisps?”

Daemon nodded. “Using those, with four of us at work, we could wipe out a whole lot of them at once. We’d just need to know where to strike, who, and what to loot. Do everything via windows, shove all loot into storage until it’s safe to consider selling, melting down, what have you, and then add the results to our coffers for later years and later dimensions.”

“With any luck,” Mukuro said slowly, “we could wipe out the lot of them, and potentially save a whole lot of innocent children in the bargain, not to mention others. I doubt we’d get them all, but still, that would be a major blow. It’d be like wiping out Estraneo early, only not so personal. Don’t mistake me, I am sure that any Harry Potter out there who wasn’t suborned by our peculiar circumstances would find it all very personal, but for us…?”

“I like it,” he said. “So yes, we need all our ducks in a row. We need plenty of thallium—we should test that, by the way, to ensure it works the same on magicals as it does non-magicals—and have everything ready to go. Preferably well before we’re in danger of getting letters. Too close to our Hogwarts debut would potentially be suspicious to some.”

“Agreed.”

“If the primary soul is still out there floating around the news of so many deaths might get to him, and it might accelerate any plans he has, but I think that’s an acceptable risk. We have to assume he’s planning to come back somehow, to get a body. The fact that he hasn’t already suggests that he does not have our ability to possess people, or if he does, he’s limited in some way by doing so, unlike us.”

“Or,” Chikusa said thoughtfully, “that his, uh, portion of soul is too small to effectively possess someone entirely.”

“Plausible,” Hayato said, “though I still have trouble wrapping my head around the concept of being able to split one’s soul, never mind anchor bits of it to people or objects.”

It took them the better part of a night to wipe out a large portion of marked Death Eaters. A number of defectives of varying (presumed) levels of magical ability had been acquired earlier, taken to a remote location, and dosed with thallium salts, and left to live or die.

They died, without fail.

Worst case scenarios during the purge saw Tsuna using his platelets trick on their overnight sweep targets, such as if a husband and wife were sharing a bed—in a semi-Victorian-era world, oh, the horror!—and one of them was not a Death Eater. He could liquefy their brain, he supposed.

He blinked. “We could liquefy the brains of the Death Eaters in Azkaban. Sort of makes me wonder what a healer would find with their spells if I did that to anyone.”

“I’d suggest a test case,” Daemon said, “but if they ever then checked the ones in Azkaban, they’d know just how badly their security had been compromised. Could go either way as to good or bad results.”

“Or we learn everything we can about healing and run the test ourselves,” Hayato said. “It’s brilliant being able to use Sun Flames to heal, even though I’m not terribly good at it, but if we could all do it…”

“Something to consider _later_ ,” Xeul said repressively. “We still have plenty of defects to eradicate and wealth to acquire.”

Over the course of the night Malfoy Sr died, Crabbe Sr, Goyle Sr, Alecto and Amycus Carrow, Avery Jr and Sr (the elder Avery was bedridden anyway, so perhaps killing him was a mercy), Walden Macnair, and Corban Yaxley, amongst others. Some of the homes were stripped bare, while others (such as those with young children) were left mostly intact. Unmarked supporters were also targeted.

Tsuna and his Mists were each holding multiple windows in place and likewise directing multiple payloads for delivery. Hayato would occasionally chip in with disintegration of a particularly resistant wizard, or Ken would send someone’s cells into uncontrolled regeneration, or Chikusa would freeze people solid when one of the Mists needed a break from both tasks simultaneously.

The wizarding world of Britain would be surprised when the _Daily Prophet_ reported not only numerous mysterious deaths, but also that half of Knockturn Alley had apparently disintegrated for no reason. They did not need to know the various shops had been looted bare before said disintegration.

Tsuna already knew half the stuff they swiped would probably need to be destroyed, but that could wait (hopefully) until they were skilled enough at detection spells (and possibly that curse breaking stuff Chikusa had mentioned) to potentially convert such items to salable items. Or at least to know they wouldn’t explode in their faces if Hayato went to town on them or they were chucked into an active volcano.

It wasn’t like Dark artifacts and banned items could be loaded into a rocket and launched on a one-way trip into space easily, after all.

They slept well into the day after their quite busy night, then celebrated with pizza.

And a week off to be generally lazy.

After that it was back to learning magic, first what would be expected of them, and then anything that looked like it might be useful in the event of being attacked—or because they wanted to troll someone.

“Can anyone explain to me why this isn’t simpler?” Ken complained, tapping a page in his book.

“How so?” he asked.

“This tripe about a match to a needle or beetles to buttons for transfiguration. Why is there reams of theory about this crap when it sounds like a matter of visualization, intent, and will? Why are there different incantations and not just ‘change’ or something similar?”

“Because mystical things aren’t as mystical if they don’t sound complicated and esoteric?” Hayato suggested calmly, which was mildly weird coming from a devotee of UMA sightings.

“So we do a test,” he said. “Once we’ve obtained wands from France or wherever, we step over to the Hogsmeade house and try it both ways. Doing it there means the magic shouldn’t be noticed, not in an area with plenty of adult magicals.”

“Agreed,” Daemon said, “though I expect when we end up at this school, we’ll have to do it their way so as not to draw too much attention. And speaking of Hogwarts, we need to remember to send in spies at the start of the next school year to see how houses are chosen for new students.”

“Also agreed,” he said. “Knowing that would be useful. And if we can do away with the mystical trappings of spell casting—and better yet, wands altogether—it’d be just another set of tools in our arsenals that could be used discreetly wherever we go.”

A few days later they were in France, wandering the streets of whatever the hell it was they called their main shopping area in Paris, poking through various shops. A wandmaker appeared on the left so they plowed across the foot traffic and entered.

One of the Mists kept the man busy not noticing any oddities while they each took turns testing for a wand. The way the man said it a wand was a quasi-sentient tool, but it made more sense to Tsuna to believe that certain materials naturally worked better for certain individuals, based on mindset, innate talent, and experiences etched on the soul.

Either way, they each gained a wand and exited so they could continue to canvas the shops still remaining. France apparently had different standards as to what could be sold openly and what was hidden away in seedy joints and darkened back rooms, so they obtained quite a few more books for their collection (including one which compared and contrasted the major wizarding schools around the world and made guesses as to their locations, plus one that helpfully pointed out major shopping areas for the intrepid tourist—Tsuna was pleased, there was a shopping area in Kyoto, which was not all that far from Namimori).

Back in Hogsmeade some time later they all brandished their wands and attempted to cast the Wand-Lighting charm, _Lumos_. The wand movement was a loop, simple enough that even the dogged results of pure-blood inbreeding could manage it (in theory).

“If nothing else,” Mukuro said with a creepy smile as he practiced, “all these spells will give us further ideas for our flames.”

Oddly, Ken was the first one to produce a steady light at the tip of his wand, but maybe it had something to do with being a Sun rather than a decent imagination. The problem then became getting the light to go away, which necessitated a re-read of the Wand-Extinguishing charm, _Nox_ , which for some reason had a wand movement of a wave.

“This is silly.” Chikusa scowled (which was so incredibly rare that Tsuna promptly stopped what he was doing to note down the time, date, and dimension it happened in) and stared at the tip of his wand as he resolutely refused to use silly movements and words to do a spell.

Tsuna tried the same, deciding in the end that if they could make it work without all the nonsensical-to-him trappings, they could fake it on the other end or use Mist Flames to confuse people into thinking they’d done it properly.

Ten minutes later he and Chikusa managed to get a feeble light going, so they flipped direction and concentrated on extinguishing said light.

They had a whole list of what the Charms Professor (a part-goblin, apparently, by the name of Flitwick, Filius) would teach first year, and the same for other mandatory classes (though History of Magic was something of a joke, it seemed, and none of them could understand the practical application of Astronomy in the magical world).

Once they could manage to get all of those down they could move on to second year.

“I’m putting in my vote again for tricking these people into believing we have the wand movements down pat,” Daemon said. “Why they seem to go out of their way to complicate all this is beyond my ken. If none of this silliness is required for flame use, why would it be required for magic?”

Hayato had the grace to look mildly embarrassed over his previous insistence of shouting out technique names in his earlier years before shaking his head and getting back to work.

“A hat,” he said in disbelief.

“A hat,” Xeul repeated dryly. “Each student sits under a hat and is ‘sorted’ into their new house, which is supposed to be like a family.”

“I can’t tell if the ones who join up with whichever Dark Lord is rampaging around are rebelling against expectations, or just succumbing further to an almost religious fervor,” Mukuro said with a sniff.

None of them were particularly impressed with the idiocy rampant in the wizarding world. The mafia world was blindingly simple in comparison. True, a parallel could be drawn between morons who thought having the blood of Vongola (and not even Giotto’s blood at that) made a person into some kind of special, when it was really more about a single ability (hyper intuition), a tendency toward producing Skies (the “royalty” of the mafia world), keen business sense, and ruthlessness, cunning, and ambition.

Plenty of famiglie had a mixture of those qualities. The distinction Vongola held was that it counted to most as the founding family, and had the dubious decency to not indulge in some of the baser activities.

Tsuna had never made the mistake of thinking he was some godly being just because he had Giotto’s blood running through his veins. Of course, when he sometimes ended up in bodies unrelated to the Vongola, it made it even harder to cop an attitude about the whole thing.

“So we need to ensure the … hat … sorts us all into the same house,” he said blandly.

“And we mostly decided on Gryffindor as having the best benefits with the least drawbacks,” Hayato reminded them.

“I suppose so. It’s not like students outside Hufflepuff would be unable to locate and enter the kitchens, though I question the quality of the food,” he said, wrinkling his nose.

The others also looked a bit uncertain. Everyone knew Tsuna was a world-class cook and baker, and everyone else paled in comparison.

“Look at the bright side,” Daemon said sunnily. “Heul finally has an eye colour other than brown!”

He gawked at his dearest friend, then said, “Well, there is that. I’ve long lamented that everyone but me seems to get cool eyes. I’m jealous to this day of Enma’s.”


	2. λ15 : 02: 1991

## λ15  
02: 1991

Strangely, everyone else got their letters several weeks before Tsuna’s arrived, so he played the role of parent when a starched-looking Professor McGonagall appeared to convince them all of the existence of magic and to haul them off on a shopping trip.

She seemed surprised that so many magical children lived in the same house, of the same age to be in the same school year, but Daemon was a smiling deterrent when it came to clear and rational thinking on her part. That she sent more than one strange look at № 4 on their way out was noted and squashed with a mental compulsion to pay the place no mind.

McGonagall, head of house for Gryffindor, seemed terribly proud of her house affiliation and was pleased to play it up, though she did take the time to mention the others and recommend that they purchase at least one copy of _Hogwarts: A History_ for their edification with regard to houses, student life, and so forth.

Heul wondered if she was like this with every muggle-born she shepherded through Diagon Alley and what the ratio of muggle-born students in Gryffindor was compared to the other three. He also wondered if she was the only professor doing these trips, and if not, if the other staff members were likewise a shade over the line into bias.

McGonagall seemed oddly pleased when none of them tried to buy out Flourish & Blotts, though she did ensure they picked up materials specifically designed for the muggle-raised. They had no idea she had already dealt with a muggle-born girl who seemed to breathe questions rather than air and wanted to know everything right now.

Uniforms—three sets of standard black robes each plus a frankly ridiculous pointed hat straight out of a cliché—were obtained quickly and stuffed into student trunks, as were basic Potions tools. Their last but one stop was the wand shop, where a Mr Ollivander gave them a misty, bug-eyed look before muttering under his breath and reaching for a tape measure.

Daemon went first and was shortly being attacked by a tape measure that moved on its own and measured him in various nonsensical places. Heul was convinced it was all mostly a front to distract the child in question from Ollivander fastening that bug-eyed gaze on them in contemplation before wandering off to fetch the first potential wand.

A quick look at Xeul and a twitch of his brow had the “child” nodding and ostensibly returning to watching events with an awed air, but he knew his Lightning would be carefully insinuating his flames into the old man’s mind to figure out that gaze if possible. Was it some form of aura reading?

Xeul went next, then Mukuro, Chikusa, Ken, and finally Hayato, who had no doubt spent the entire time analyzing the situation and Ollivander.

Their final stop was to two places, Eeylops Owl Emporium and the Magical Menagerie.

“As stated in your letter,” McGonagall said, “you may bring either a cat, a toad, or an owl to school with you, assuming your parent is agreeable, that is.” She took a moment to glance at Heul, who nodded. “Do any of you have a clear preference?”

“I’d like an owl,” Mukuro stated, somehow keeping a straight face.

Everyone else said, “A cat.”

“Then we shall go to Eeylops first, then finish up at the Magical Menagerie,” she said. “Off we go, then.”

Mukuro found himself a snowy owl that spent more time looking at Heul than it did the “boy”, but consented to be purchased as a “pet” and post owl. “You can help us to keep in contact with our father,” Mukuro said quite seriously, causing Ken to have a sudden coughing fit and Hayato to look out the small, somewhat murky front window.

At the Magical Menagerie a clowder of cats was obtained. There was a litter of five part-kneazles they agreed to purchase, and once they were set with carriers, feeding dishes, and so forth, they were escorted back to № 6 Privet Drive after a quick detour to King’s Cross to show them how to gain entry to Platform 9¾ on the first of September.

“Remember now,” McGonagall said before she departed for points unknown, “the train leaves sharp at eleven o’clock, so it’s best to arrive early.”

“Have no fear,” Heul said mildly. “Thank you for your assistance today, ma’am.”

She nodded and set off briskly, disappearing around a corner at the end of the street.

“Wasn’t that fun,” Daemon said as they stacked their purchases in the sitting room and let the kittens out of their carriers.

Ken grabbed all the dishes and a bag of kibble to get that set up, and Mukuro opened the carrying cage for his new owl and set up a standing perch. Owl treats went into one bowl and he fetched a glass of water so he could fill the water dish.

“I should probably adjust the Bounding Box so this lot of explorers doesn’t go roaming the neighborhood,” he said. “Given that the Magical Menagerie did not sell litter boxes, I have to wonder if they expect all cats to be at least indoor-outdoor ones. Is there a charm we missed or enchanted collars to prevent flea infestations?”

“Adjust it so they can’t leave the house for now,” Hayato advised. “I’ll run out and pick up boxes and litter. And either we can wait for you to get taken to Diagon Alley as Harry, or go back to check now that the issue’s come up.”

He nodded and set about updating their “warding”.

A week prior to Harry’s birthday he went to fetch the mail when the characteristic sound of post being delivered was heard. He’d been doing so ever since his family had gotten theirs, and it was less trouble to collect it himself, rather than have to deal with the gross caricature of human life residing at № 4 chucking a wobbly over blatant evidence of “freakishness”.

There was a letter addressed to a Mr Harry Potter, so he grabbed it and wandered out of the house, back to the one he really lived at.

“Interesting,” he said, seated at the kitchen table over a bowl of sliced fruit and a plate of croissants. “This implies they expect Harry to already know about the wizarding world.”

“Okay,” Ken said, “but how do they expect him to answer? They could not have been counting on the next door neighbors having an owl for him to conveniently borrow.”

“And I didn’t think to check for one hanging about on my way over,” he said.

Mukuro glided over to the window to scan the street. “I’m not seeing anything. You don’t suppose they’d expect the giraffe to take Harry to Diagon Alley, do you? Surely they must realize the woman abhors all of this.”

“Unless this Dumbledore person really is a senile old fart,” Ken said roughly. “You would think a national hero would get a touch more respect. Harry, I mean, not the senile old fart.”

He hummed in thought, then came to a decision. “Daemon, darling, would you please encourage Petunia to escort her nephew to the Leaky Cauldron, just in case someone should be on the lookout?”

“Consider it done. Or, well, after you’ve had a chance to eat. I would offer up one of us to play the part, but they might be able to tell that the giraffe has mysteriously gained magic, so…”

“Yeah. All right. Let me finish, and then we can go set this up.”

Petunia looked down her nose at him and gave him a rough push. “It’s there, or near abouts.” A small selection of bills was shoved at him with, “You can use that to take the train back, for I’ll not wait for you. You’re on your own from here.”

“Whatever,” he said carelessly and booked it inside. He knew the others would be strategically stationed around the alley keeping an eye out, though none of them expected much in the way of danger.

He went straight to Gringotts to inquire about any funds he might have. Research had shown that Harry’s paternal grandfather (Fleamont Potter) was the inventor of Sleekeasy’s Hair Potion and Scalp Treatment, and it was likely there was something of a fortune waiting for him. Something about how the man had quadrupled the family fortune before he sold off the company he’d made to manufacture and distribute the stuff.

The goblins were just as tetchy looking as the last time, but he slipped into a line to wait patiently for his turn. Once at the head he said, “I would like to speak with someone about any vaults I may have. My name is Harry Potter.”

The goblin shot him a skeptical look. “Do you have your key?”

“Hardly. This is my first time in Diagon Alley. I wouldn’t be asking what I might have waiting if I had a key already.”

The goblin scowled and signaled to one of his fellows, who came over and grunted at him as a way (presumably) to tell him to follow.

Tsuna obediently trotted along behind the short fellow and was shortly thereafter gestured into an office of some kind.

“Claims he’s Harry Potter,” the unnamed goblin said grittily, then departed, closing the door behind him. Tsuna assumed it was male, anyway.

The new goblin also eyed him skeptically, but rather than say anything immediately he fetched out a gleaming knife and gestured. “Need to test your blood.”

Tsuna shrugged and held out his hand, wincing slightly as the knife was dragged across the pad of his forefinger. The damn thing was razor sharp, so the pain came after the wound, rather than during.

The goblin flipped his hand over and squeezed, causing several drops of blood to hit the desk’s blotter, then muttered something guttural before releasing him. Tsuna realized that his wound had been healed, which made the Ministry’s insistence that goblins not be allowed to carry or use wands that much more criminally ignorant.

Words began to form on the blotter which, now that he thought about it, was probably some sort of specially treated parchment for just this sort of thing, and clearly named him Harry Potter, son of James and Lily Potter.

“Right,” the goblin said. “Now that’s sorted, what’s your business here today?”

“I came to find out what my inheritance is. Vaults, properties, investments, and so forth. I only received a letter this morning about Hogwarts, so this is my first time in the, uh, wizarding world.”

“No key, then?”

He shook his head. “I was placed with muggles, and I expect they wouldn’t have any rights here. I can’t imagine the average wizard giving them a vault key to hold onto, so whatever ones there are, I have no knowledge of who holds them.”

“Hmpfh. Wait while I check our records, human child. You may sit.”

A short time later the goblin had a stack of parchment in a leather binder to peruse. “The only thing you have access to at present is a trust vault. I will get you a key for that momentarily. There are two family vaults, one for coins and one for items, that you may not access until you’re of age—that is seventeen, by the way, due to the way your human laws work. As for properties, that will require a more in-depth examination of the files and, quite frankly, you’re too young to worry overmuch about it at this point.”

Tsuna disagreed, but whatever. Assuming he lived long enough…

“And who, if anyone aside from me, has access to any and all knowledge of my holdings and/or the ability to make changes or withdrawals?”

“Your magical guardian, one would assume.”

“Is that listed in your files or do I have to inquire elsewhere?”

“According to this, your—” The goblin stared at the parchment for a moment, seemingly confused. “Officially—according to the Ministry, that is—your magical guardian is Albus Dumbledore. Unofficially officially, it is Sirius Black, your godfather, who is presently incarcerated in Azkaban.”

A muted chime sounded. The goblin reached over to push his gnarled finger up the surface of the desk near the edge, revealing a shallow indentation. He plucked a small key from it and handed it over.

“One other question for the moment,” Tsuna said, carefully tucking the key away. “May I know your name so I can consult again with you at a later date should I have more questions?”

“…Gnarlknot.”

He nodded. “I’ll be off, then. Time is money.”

The previous goblin was waiting for him outside, to escort him back to the lobby.

On the way he asked, “Whom should I speak to in order to visit my vault?”

The goblin shoved him off on yet another goblin, this one wearing a badge that read “Griphook”, and swiftly departed.

Griphook hauled him off through a door at the back and gestured him into what looked like a mining cart. An exciting ride later saw Tsuna gathering up a fair amount of golden coins to shove into a sack hanging from a hook just inside the door (thoughtful parents or…?), and then they rode back up and he was free to purchase things he had no need of.

He purchased a student trunk, simply to have something to toss all the expected stuff into, got his “uniforms”, pointed hat, winter cloak (and why silver fittings if that was a colour used for one of the houses?), and gloves (all of which were tossed carelessly into the trunk), his books, and so forth.

Why they failed to take a page from the non-magicals and get decent telescopes to use was beyond him, but whatever.

Before going into Ollivanders he paused so that Daemon could ensure his aura was not the same as Heul’s, then stepped inside the rather dusty shop.

Ollivander was just as creepy as last time, and stared at him even more weirdly than he had at Tsuna’s family, but he was eventually matched up with a holly and phoenix feather wand and given a cryptic statement of how it was that the brother wand of his was the one to give him his scar.

‘Right, so the Dark Lord has it, and this guy here has no compunction about trying to terrify small children for his own amusement.’ He took off after paying, glad to leave the place behind, hopefully never to have to deal with the man again.

What sort of pet? Mukuro wrote in a for-his-eyes-only display of Mist Flames.

He scrunched up his nose and wandered over to Eeylops to give the owls a once-over. One of the snowy owls gave him a look, but Tsuna wasn’t especially fond of their appearance. He wandered back out with a white-faced scops owl that made him want to squeal at the sheer cuteness, along with the usual supplies, then rendezvoused with his family in a small side alley (barely more than an alcove suitable to host doorways to first floor apartments) and slapped up a temporary Bounding Box to hide the fact they were using _Between_ to get home.

Twitter (the name had caused rather a lot of laughter when he announced it) sat cozily on his shoulder as they sailed through the portal to Platform 9¾ at ten o’clock on the morning of the first.

He wondered, while suffering the desire to look away from so much gleaming scarlet, if there was a teensy amount of Gryffindor bias there. The platform itself only allowed direct access to two cars, with the rest of the train snaking off into a tunnel that by all rights shouldn’t exist were it not for permanent space expansion charms.

They trundled on and made their way from car to car, aiming for the final one and absolutely avoiding any cars that were entirely open but for the seats. The final car had a small balcony off the back (presumably for late arrivals who had to run for it), which they ignored in favor of the last compartment on the right.

“This will be an issue once we get older and bigger,” Chikusa said, “but by then we should have space expansion charms down.”

“Game plan?” he said.

Daemon, Mukuro, and Xeul nodded. “We’ll be ready to divert the Trace after we get to the school.”

“Awesome. Time for Cluedo, then.”

They had managed to get through two games and the train had pulled out of the station several minutes before when the door was slid open and a red-haired boy stuck his head in to say, “Can I sit here? All the other compartments are full.”

Tsuna noticed that an eighth “boy” had suddenly sprung into existence next to him on the bench seat. “Sit where, exactly? We’re full in here.”

“But this is th—aren’t you Harry Potter?” the boy asked, eyes going wide. “You have the scar and everything, right!?”

Tsuna exchanged a look with Daemon. “We’re full,” he repeated. “I’m afraid you’ll have to find somewhere else to sit.” _Hogwarts: A History_ had clearly stated that the train adapted to the number of students who would be riding it, so there was no way in hell the boy’s claim was true, which branded the little snotbag a liar out of the gate.

“But aren’t you—”

Daemon smiled angelically.

The redhead’s eyes went blank, he turned around, and walked away.

Daemon slid the door shut again and said, “It won’t last long, but… He is just a child.”

Tsuna shrugged. “He’s a child who has been given a second chance. We’ll see.” Twitter twitted in his ear, which caused him to notice a toad near his feet. “Huh.”

Xeul was nice enough to snatch the creature up and drop him into a spare cat carrier (some of the kittens were sharing, so as to keep each other company) so the thing wouldn’t get squashed, then hang it from one of the hooks on the overhead shelving units. “If its owner doesn’t wander along by the end of the ride, I’ll turn it over to a staff member or something.”

“Makes sense,” Chikusa said as he rolled the dice and then moved his (blue) playing piece. Not having landed in a room, play continued on.

“We really need to make our own version of this with seven pieces,” Hayato said grumpily as he rolled the dice. “And all the proper colours.”

Several hours later—about halfway through their estimated journey—there was a knock at the door before it slid open. “Anything off the trolley, dears?” asked a comfortably plush lady.

Tsuna and Daemon, being the closest to the door, purchased a few things to share around before the lady trundled off with her cart, at which point those who could pulled bentos from storage to hand out.

“Good thing I prepared these, then,” he said. “You would expect if they have us on a train for the better part of a day that they’d provide something other than sweets as an option, or was there a dining car I somehow failed to notice on the way to the last car?”

About a half hour after they finished their meal and moved on to a new game (Tsuna was playing that time, the white piece representing him having been turned orange), a knock came at the door and it slid open to reveal a young girl with alarming amounts of bushy brown hair, overlarge front teeth, and a veneer of arrogance which mostly hid an under-layer of nervousness.

“Have any of you seen a toad? Neville’s lost his.”

A moon-faced boy appeared, looking timid and downtrodden.

Xeul pointed up at the hanging cage. “We found one earlier. Is this it?” He got the cage down and retrieved the toad.

“Trevor!” Neville held out his hands to accept his pet.

“I say, Cluedo? An odd game to be playing. Shouldn’t you be reading up for the start of the year? I’ve learned all our course books by heart, of course, I just hope it will be enough. Nobody in my family’s magic at all, it was ever such a surprise when I got my letter, but I was ever so pleased, of course, I mean, it’s the very best school of witchcraft there is, I’ve heard. I’m Hermione Granger, by the way, and you?”

Tsuna blinked before a serene smile slid into place. “Charmed,” he managed to say before Trevor the toad hopped out of Neville’s hands and made a break for it down the access-way.

“Trevor!” Neville cried and took off.

“Oh, no!” Granger said, and vanished in a swirl of bushy hair.

Daemon slid the door closed again with a sour look. “Please put up a Bounding Box, darling?”

“Sure,” he said agreeably.

A voice echoed through the train: “We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes’ time. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to the school separately.”

They left the school trunks exactly where they were, since they contained nothing suspicious whatsoever. Anything of importance was in storage, though they were considering getting either mokeskin pouches for the non-Mists, or some kind of pouch or bag they could place an undetectable extension charm on (once they properly learned it), not to mention a magical tent or two.

Tsuna could only hope those would function well in alternate dimensions. If nothing else, a tent would come in very handy in worlds where he was not slotted into an alternate Tsuna and he did not have a home at the outset.

Once they were out on the platform there was a period of uncertainty. Most students were headed toward a line of carriages and they were unsure if they should follow. It would have been nice if McGonagall had mentioned this part.

And then a lamp came bobbing over the heads of the students, held by a giant of a man with wild, wiry hair and a beard to match. “Firs’ years! Firs’ years over here!” he called, holding the lamp up higher. “C’mon, follow me—any more firs’ years? Mind yer step, now! Firs’ years follow me!”

He led them down a steep, narrow path which was moist enough to cause slipping for some of the students.

“Better lighting would be nice,” Daemon muttered dryly. “Are they trying to kill off the weak and clumsy?”

It occurred to Tsuna that they might be being a touch hard on the wizarding world, but it was hard not to be considering just how much of a _lack_ of common sense was being displayed.

“Yeh’ll get yer firs’ sight o’ Hogwarts in a sec,” the giant called over his shoulder, “jus’ round this bend here.”

The path opened up suddenly onto the edge of a great black lake. Perched atop a high mountain on the other side, its windows sparkling in the starry sky, was a vast castle with many turrets and towers.

“No more’n four to a boat!” the giant called, pointing to a fleet of little boats sitting in the water by the shore.

Tsuna frowned, but got into a boat with Daemon, Hayato, and Ken. Mukuro, Xeul, and Chikusa were stuck with a boy none of them had yet met. He noticed that Neville had been chivvied into a boat by Granger and the red-haired boy joined them, along with someone else they didn’t know.

Once all the first years were seated the giant (who had a boat to himself) shouted, “Everyone in? Right, then— _forward_!”

The castle _was_ a sight to see, but they had seen it already, so some of the impact was lost on Tsuna. The surface of the lake was smooth as glass except where the boats were sending out ripples, and the weather was nice but chilly, so the ride wasn’t terrible, and shortly the castle was towering over them—assuming one bothered to crane their head up to see it over the cliff it sat on.

“Heads down!” yelled the giant as the first boats reached the cliff and passed through a curtain of ivy that hid a wide opening. They were carried along a dark tunnel until they reached an underground harbor.

Xeul nudged him, quietly pointing at alcoves to be seen in a passageway that wound upward into darkness.

Tsuna nodded. The passageway itself was barely wide enough for the giant’s girth, and it was unlikely the children would go up in more than pairs, which allowed for Ministry officials hiding in those alcoves to apply the Trace to unsuspecting first years.

He hung back with his family and let the real children go first. When it was finally their turn Daemon and Xeul used their flames to trick the officials into believing they were done while Tsuna and Mukuro hid the family from sight as a just in case. It was not until they were emerging topside, onto smooth, damp grass, that they relaxed and faded back into sight.

“Everyone here?” The giant led them up a flight of steps to a huge, oak front door, then raised a gigantic fist and knocked three times.

McGonagall opened it and bade them enter; the giant—Hagrid—trundled off to wherever. McGonagall led them to a chamber across the hall from where the sound of countless voices emerged and told them to wait, that the sorting would begin shortly.

It was cramped and uncomfortable and stifling to be packed into a room that size with so many other people and he was glad when McGonagall returned to lead them back out, across the hall, and through a set of double doors into the Great Hall.

Seeing the enchanted ceiling was different in person, and he could easily imagine having something like that in his own home, though the likelihood of it happening was slim to none. Perhaps an anchored illusion?

He zoned out while everyone was gawking at the hall and shuffling nervously in line, and through a bit of song, until McGonagall stepped forward holding a long roll of parchment.

“When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted,” she said. “Abbott, Hannah!”

“ _Hufflepuff_!”

“Ashwill, Zane!”

“Go, Gryffindor,” Xeul whispered, then headed forward.

“I can’t be the first person to worry about head lice,” he muttered, causing Hayato look amused and disturbed.

The hat appeared to be confused, however that was possible for a hat. The “rip” near its brim opened, paused, then shouted, “ _Gryffindor_!”

“One down,” Daemon muttered.

Indigo words flamed up in front of them: Use the shadows in your minds to present bravery, and if necessary, keep repeating ‘Gryffindor’ until it caves.

Tsuna nodded and zoned out again until “Elliot, Clay” was called and Chikusa went up. He, too, was sorted into Gryffindor. Tsuna was pleased that Xeul and Chikusa seated themselves in a way that would easily allow him to slip in between them, and expected Hayato would add to the bloc.

The Granger girl also went to Gryffindor, and was followed a minute later by “Graver, Hale” and Hayato going to Gryffindor.

Neville turned out to be “Longbottom, Neville” and after what looked like a terrifying time was sorted into Gryffindor. Either the kid had bravery in spades hidden deep beneath that timid exterior, or the hat decided it showed bravery that he could get to the stool at all.

It wasn’t much later that “Potter, Harry” was called and Tsuna heaved a sigh before heading forward, shifting the shadows in his mind to only reveal what he wanted to reveal. Occlumency was all well and good, but it was also obvious to anyone who knew Legilimency, so they had come up with a secondary method to protect their minds, with the Mists helping those who were not.

Whispers sprang up like little hissing fires all over the hall and everyone present had their eyes aimed straight at him as he sat down and felt the hat being placed on his head.

“Hm,” said a small voice in his ear. “Difficult. Very difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind either. There’s talent, I see. How odd, I would almost expect a thirst to prove yourself, coming from someone raised a muggle. …So where shall I put you?”

‘Gryffindor,’ he thought firmly.

“… _Gryffindor_!” the hat called out, then was lifted off his head.

The older Gryffindor students erupted into cheers and clapping, as if they’d just won the lottery or something. A serene smile slid into place as he walked over and took a seat between Xeul and Chikusa, and promptly zoned out again except when one of his family were up.

Mukuro, Ken, and Daemon were all sorted into Gryffindor as well, which was making the table seem smaller than it was with so many people seated there, and then of the last two first years, “Weasley, Ronald” was sorted into Gryffindor—

Tsuna twitched.

—and the final boy, “Zabini, Blaise”, was sorted into Slytherin.

He ignored the old guy at the head table as he spoke, then reached out to fill his plate when food appeared. “Time to see if they know how to cook,” he muttered, adding roast beef, Yorkshire pudding, roast potatoes, carrots, and brown gravy to his plate.

‘Eh, not bad,’ he thought a minute later. He was starting to wonder if house-elves even ate food at all normally, because while still tasty, his meal was a bit like when the carbonation was half gone from a soft drink.

“Is it just me, or are there a lot more students here than expected?” Hayato murmured.

He held a tidbit of beef up for Twitter to eat and swept his gaze over the hall. “I think you’re right, and I think I know why.”

Hayato’s brow furrowed as he forked another bite into his mouth, then he blinked and nodded. “Yeah. I wonder how the rooms will go.”

Tsuna checked their end of the table, started counting male first years, and came up with a total of thirteen. “I think we’ll be all right given how many we are. I will be annoyed if all of us are crammed into the same room, though.”

More writing flamed up for their-eyes-only: Don’t look now, but that redhead keeps looking your way with more than a little jealousy.

Tsuna sighed slightly and kept right on eating.

The food finally vanished and was replaced by dessert. He acquired a few chocolate éclairs to finish with, absently noted that Seamus was a half-blood, Neville’s Great Uncle Algie was abusive and might warrant a visit, Granger had found a like-minded person to natter at and be pompous with, and that one of the (presumed) professors at the head table had the fashion sense of a concussed flower child from the sixties.

The pompous redhead’s voice floated over as he pointed out to Granger who each of the people at the head table were. The flower child was Trelawney, Divination Professor, and generally regarded as a touch weird. The dour man with lank, dark hair was Snape, Potions Professor, and head of house for Slytherin. The one wearing a turban was Quirrell, that year’s Defense professor. The short, dumpy woman with flyaway hair was Sprout, Herbology Professor, and head of house for Hufflepuff, while Flitwick, the part-goblin (not that his lineage was specified), was Charms Professor and head of house for Ravenclaw.

He also mentioned the teachers for various electives, but Tsuna had zoned out again at that point, hoping that the meal would end and he could see how the rooming situation sorted out. He was horrified when the old man got up (surely the headmaster) and cheerfully exhorted the students to a rousing rendition of the school song, which sounded to Tsuna like the yowling death cries of far too many feral cats.

Pompous made it known (again) that he was a prefect (and had trouble not polishing his badge and blinding people by glinting the light off it) and that all first years should follow him. After a long walk they came to a portrait of a fat lady in a pink silk dress, at the very end of a corridor.

“Password?”

“Caput draconis,” Pompous said pompously, and the portrait swung toward them to reveal a round hole in the wall.

“We have to crawl?” he whispered in dismay.

On the other side was the Gryffindor common room, a cramped, round room full of squashy armchairs, with far too much gold and red in evidence.

“Because we have more students than usual this year,” Pompous said, “things are slightly different. Girls’ dorms are through that door on the right—the top two floors. Check both to see which room your trunks are in to know which room you’ve been assigned. Boys, you’re to the left, the top two floors. Keep an eye on the notice board there, as the portrait password changes every two weeks. Curfew is…”

Daemon and Xeul tag-teamed the boys into delaying with a bit of gawking while Pompous was still talking, to give Samsara time to get up the winding staircase and ensure they had a room to themselves. They had to swap out Thomas, Dean and Schloam, Barnabus for Hayato and Xeul and, once that was done, Tsuna set up an innocuous anchor to protect their home away from home from the innocent (and not so innocent) curiosity of complete strangers.

Thankfully, there was an en suite, so they didn’t have to all pile in with a bunch of actual children and end up feeling like creepy pedophiles as a result.

“So, more students due to fewer Death Eaters going out for a bit of light entertainment?” Hayato said.

Tsuna nodded as he removed his robes and folded them, then shrugged. “A bunch of defects got removed and it made it easier for us in the end. Not going to complain. It may also make it easier to blend in during classes.”

“Good point. Well, I’m surprisingly tired—which really makes me want to start testing all the food for hidden additives—so I think I’m going to get ready for bed.”

He smiled and nodded. “Me, too.”

The next morning they trundled down to the Great Hall and settled in to have breakfast and receive their schedules. “Nice,” he said. “We only have Charms at eleven today.”

“Most days look good except for Tuesdays,” Daemon added. “Are we ready?”

They all got up, grabbed their bags, and started off, passing an out-of-breath Weasley, Ronald on their way out. Someone had obviously overslept.

Since they had three hours until class they had a leisurely stroll to the library and grabbed a corner table, which was placed under a temporary Bounding Box to keep students away.

“With the way things are already going, I almost think I prefer all those assassins,” he said.

Mukuro laughed at him. “What makes you think there won’t be plenty here, too? You are allegedly the one who offed the Dark Idiot. Surely his brain-missing minions will want you dead for it. We got plenty, but there are always more like it out there.”

“Hm, true. That’ll be a bright spot, then, I suppose. Fanboys and fangirls are still a major downside.” He got out Cluedo and started setting it up. “Out of who is left, we need to learn the major players and who to watch out for, as well as finding clues for our next shard.”

“What are you doing!?” was hissed at them.

He looked over to see an overly starched librarian archetype glaring at them. “Setting up a game to use up some free time.”

“Not in my library, young man. I’ll not have you hooligans making noise in here.”

His brow went up. “Right,” he said blandly and began to pack the game away again.

They were out the double doors two minutes later. “Is using a spare classroom too obvious?” he asked.

“Probably, but it might be the best we can get,” Chikusa replied. “Let’s go up a floor or two and poke around.”

Once they’d found an empty room (the dust told a story, if nothing else) and had settled in, Tsuna said, as he got out Cluedo again, “Oh, right, that’s what I wanted to talk about. The ‘most painful death’ we can expect if we go to that third floor corridor that’s forbidden.”

“Clearly an invitation,” Daemon said. “Either the old man is senile or he drew attention to it because he expects students—or you, specifically—to be drawn to it like Shoichi to a robot.”

He nodded and set out the drawing bag. It held seven slips of folded paper, and only one of them had an ‘X’ on it. Whoever got that one was not a participant in the initial game.

“So, something for us to do, basically,” he said, then smiled when a half dozen spies zoomed under the door and out of the room on a reconnaissance mission. “Maybe we’ll get lucky and find treasure along the way. Also, see if we can find a better meeting place, because I’m thinking the common room just won’t cut it, nor will our dorm.”

Once they found the classroom (found being foreign-talk for retracing their windowed steps) they grabbed seats at the back and settled in to be bored.

They were, as expected.

The most exciting thing that happened was Flitwick toppling off his stack of books with a squeak. Tsuna couldn’t tell offhand if the little man was a fanboy of the Boy-Who-Lived, had an inner ear issue, or low blood pressure.

Weasley, Ronald looked upset when he finally made it to class, barely on time, to see that _the_ Harry Potter was already cozily tucked away with all the seats around him already filled. Tsuna quirked an eyebrow at Daemon, who nodded, and went back to zoning out. Flitwick was rabbiting on about the Wand-Lighting charm, presumably chosen as their first spell for Charms on the basis that homesick and nervous children would like some comforting light that did not involve stumbling around in the dark to find a fireplace.

Being the brilliant little schemers they were, Samsara got it on the “first” try, which caused Flitwick to squeak and tumble off his books again. He popped back up a minute later and awarded them each two points, beaming the whole time as if someone had just handed him illicit naked midget tapioca wrestling videos.

Or something.

“Not bad,” he murmured. “First class and we’ve already earned fourteen points. Completely useless points, but…”

Transfiguration the next morning was similarly boring, and worse, a double, but unfortunately they already knew a laptop would either act wonky or not at all in a magical environment, and it was too early a year to buy an extra or six to experiment on rather than chance destroying one of the ones they already relied on.

The only option was to acquire them from a previous dimension, but that meant finding someone who deserved to misplace their belongings (and who didn’t skimp when it came to electronics). He could, in theory, acquire goods from Vongola—or, perhaps, ask a previous Reborn to pick a half dozen up… Hm.

History was a snooze-fest and the perfect place to use Mist Flames to hide whatever they decided to use the time slot for, and Defense, at three, was a joke with no punchline. Tsuna developed a headache from listening to Quirrell stutter, the musty, decaying smell of the man’s ridiculous turban, and the scent of garlic threading through it all.

That evening, in their dorm, he opened a window to the store world’s Iron Fort and found Ki-san relaxing in his room with a glass of wine and a book. A grin broke out before it was subsumed by a serene smile. “Ki-san~!”

Reborn’s head snapped up. “Heul,” he said warmly. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I was hoping you could do me a favor,” he said, still smiling. “I could acquire what I need, but I don’t feel like searching around. If I front you the cash—rather, the gold—will you pick up a half dozen laptops for me? Not top-of-the-line ones, because I need to run experiments on them.”

Reborn’s brow cocked up in a familiar gesture.

“We’re in a weird universe this time, really weird.”

“I’m almost afraid to ask, especially given that you don’t look at all like yourself.”

Tsuna grinned. “Yeah. Ah, this world has honest-to-kami magic in addition to flames, fairly similar to that one book series I read a ways back, though that fellow was named Harry Wright. He was a bit of an insufferable snot, too, given to saying he was ‘always Wright’ when people questioned him. I was slotted into the body of a hero, allegedly responsible for defeating a dark lord who’d been terrorizing the magical UK. They’re all fucking insane here and common sense is a distant memory. The thing is, technology doesn’t work well around magic, and I’m not about to tinker with one of the laptops we already have. It’s dead boring at this school most of the time.”

Reborn snorted after a moment. “A hero? You? Was the plot anything similar?”

He laughed merrily. “Yeah. Considering this body was fifteen months old at the time, and I’m pretty sure it was the mother who actually effected this miraculous defeat of Mr Magical Terrorist, I rather think that logic is soundly batted away the moment it tries to rear its head. We are now eleven-ish, stuck in a school for magic, and bored senseless most of the time because we already learned all this stuff while waiting to be invited here. No, not the same plot, or I’d probably have remembered earlier, like when we went to get wands.”

Reborn shook his head. “Anyway, yes, I’ll gladly pick some laptops up for you. Forget the gold, though. I won’t say no to baked goods.”

“As far as baked goods go, I can swing that. I’d just have to step out for a day, back to the normal house we bought, because magical kitchens are something I’m still getting used to. And frankly, I’d rather not do without my stand mixer. The ah, house-elves here are not…”

“Their cooking will never compare to yours, Heul,” Hayato interjected from his position on his bed.

A fond smile crossed his face. “I figure we can take one apart after checking some references on ancient runes, see if there’s a way to power the things with magic rather than electricity, and various other things. Even if we never get one to work, it will be something new to play with. Anything interesting happening on your end?”

Reborn shrugged elegantly. “Things are mostly the same. Decimo is generally a bit frazzled. I made sure he put information into the archives about the lasting effects of sealing an active Sky. Timoteo didn’t bother.”

Tsuna scowled. “Fucking trash. I have yet to meet one who isn’t. Why would he not make sure later generations were aware of just how much of a bad idea it is? Honestly, I become more and more convinced that whoever Daniella married must have been alarmingly on the low side of the intelligence scale.”

Reborn just chuckled. “Before my time, I’m afraid.”

“That reminds me, Enrico will turn fourteen this year. Perhaps Samsara should become interested in his development as a young man and heir to the family throne, try to nudge him into a less moronic mindset. Or at least, nudge him and his brothers into actually getting married and producing baby Vongolas, so my counterpart isn’t saddled with every responsibility.”

“Noted,” Daemon said absently.

“I assume, then, you plan to ensure your counterpart isn’t crippled.”

“Fuck yeah. Once we’ve blown this popsicle stand—I’m already thinking of having a tragic plane crash into the ocean on our way to a summer holiday deal—we will absolutely be in Namimori around that time. I’m also thinking of persuading the local Daemon to be a big brother sort and help keep the poor kid safe when we can’t be right there.”

“And my counterpart? It’s what year there?”

“Uh, 1991 at present. We already checked. Your counterparts are already… Yeah. We’ll take care of that, too, but first we’ll deal with this additional complication.”

“What about the family you ended up with? Another android masquerading as a human?” Reborn asked.

Tsuna’s brow started to draw in, but it was Mukuro who laughed nastily and took a seat next to his boss. “No, not until we got our hands on them, the abusive pigs that they are when left to their own devices.”

Reborn frowned, his upper lip starting to twitch toward a sneer.

“Daemon handled that aspect of things, and the moment we could, we persuaded the next door neighbors to sell us their place and fuck off.”

Tsuna shrugged. “Sadly, it would not do for this body’s … relations … to suffer a tragic accident, yet. If I live long enough, well…” He smiled serenely.

Reborn smiled back, suddenly in good humor again, then frowned when an explosion sounded off to the side somewhere. “Fucking Hibari,” he muttered. “I’ll grab a half dozen mid-grade, okay? I’ll just leave them in here so you can grab them whenever.”

“All right, Ki-san. I’ll step out for a day at the weekend and whip up some cake or something for you as thanks. Have fun with whatever that was.”

Reborn saluted, set his book down, and departed, so Tsuna dropped the window back into storage.

“This shit never changes, does it.”

Hayato snorted. “Hibari probably got pissed that someone moved a micron too close to his perceived territory and blew a gasket.”

“Or my counterpart smirked in his vicinity,” Mukuro said, smirking.

“Yeah, that’d do it,” Tsuna said with a sigh. “I bless the day Daemon found that Mist-Cloud body, and Xeul the Mist-Lightning. So much stress went straight out the window. Of course, I also bless the day you three decided to show up unexpectedly. Hayato, well…”

“Hey!” shouted an annoyed Storm. “I got better!”

Tsuna laughed merrily and nodded. “We wouldn’t have harmonized if you hadn't. So, to recap current plans; one, figure out the third floor corridor; two, a better and more private meeting place; and three, baking to appease Ki-san’s palate in repayment for the laptops we’ll probably end up destroying.”

Charms on Wednesday was a continuation of the prior class, while Herbology was at least mildly interesting, though he honestly had trouble believing there could be people who smiled that much out of genuine feeling. Perhaps Sprout was just that happy handling plants?

Potions on Friday morning, however, was not a happy time for most of Gryffindor. Snape seemed to be a curious mixture of a full-blown drama queen and a bully. Daemon later reported that a look into the man’s mind (and he was a Occlumens of fair skill, though that could not rebuff an experienced Mist) revealed that “Harry Potter” looked entirely too much like Snape’s school-years tormentor, James Potter, and was therefore the perfect person for Snape to torment in return.

Tsuna rolled his eyes when he heard that. “So he’s got a monkey on his back and it isn’t cocaine—or whatever there is that passes for recreational drugs in the wizarding world.”

“I wouldn’t quite put it that way,” Chikusa said. “Definitely a long-standing grudge, and too immature and stuck in the past to recognize that the man is dead.”

“To most people you look very similar to James, but with Lily’s eyes. Your appearance is an affront to him, and a torment. But…” Daemon raised one finger. “Do not mistake this. Snape and Lily were friends as children—they lived in the same town. He saw her do accidental magic, realized she was a witch, and managed to become friends with her. Also of note is that his muggle father was abusive, to him and his mother.”

Tsuna’s face started to scrunch up in a kind of confused dismay.

“Snape calls it love, but a rational person would see it as obsession, just as he’s obsessed with James for ‘stealing’ away the woman he felt should be his. At the same time, he owes a life debt to James and was coerced by the old man into agreeing to protect you.”

“We’re talking about a bucket-load of resentment here,” he said. “Bitterness, spite, obsession—it’s a recipe for the magical equivalent of a nuclear weapon, except that with this coercion and life debt, he’s likely to atomize himself, rather than me.”

“And he’s a Death Eater,” Daemon added helpfully. “But we already knew that.”

“Mm. The only reason we didn’t off him with the others was because the old man vouched for him. Are you now going to tell me that was a mistake on the old man’s part?”

Daemon wiggled his hand. “Six of one, half dozen of the other. He joined up for all the wrong reasons, having been skillfully coaxed by a smooth talker, and then decided that Lily, despite having called her a mudblood to her face, was the exception to the rule, and that clearly he loved her. Given his only example of ‘love’ and his tendency toward obsession, well, you can see where that was going.”

“Believing that the Dark were in the right, never mind that he’s a half-blood, and yet somehow still thinking that a ‘mudblood’ was a fantastic and unhypocritical choice for a—I hesitate to say wife… Either way, all right. He’s going to be a thorn in my side so long as he lives, but since I don’t really give a fuck about grades from exams, I can just ignore him.”

“And if he assigns any detentions, we fake him out,” Mukuro said. “He may wonder why his cauldrons never seem to get cleaned, but that’s not our problem. In fact…”

Xeul nodded. “Yes. We can slide in a compulsion to never give Tsuna detention—any of us, really. Sadly, a compulsion to make him appear to be a decent human being would be too radical a change of behavior. And if he steps too far over the line, we arrange an accident.”

He hummed agreeably. “He’s not going to get very far with denigrating James, since I never knew the man, and what memories this body came with are mostly only applicable to Walrus and Giraffe. All right, well, let’s table that for now. If he steps over the line, sure, but for now, nah.

“And… Right. I need to step out tomorrow to do some baking. Two of you can come along if you like, but the rest need to cover our absence. If you have any requests, make sure I have them before I leave, for when I hit up a store first.”

The next morning at six o’clock he was ready to step _Between_ and get some baking done. Mukuro and Ken went with him as helpers, while the twins were in charge of mind-fucking anyone who came looking for Harry Potter. For all he knew they’d just create clones and have them fake eating at meals.

He spent a relaxing day baking a scandalous amount of that raspberry-cinnamon-coffee chocolate cake with the buttercream frosting, brownies, croissants, and various other treats. They brought back stacks of goodies that evening, and after sitting on his bed he opened a window to Ki-san’s room, hoping to catch him there.

He was in luck.

“Ki-san~!”

Reborn’s head snapped up and his gaze landed unerringly on Heul. “Dare I hope…?”

“Of course, Ki-san~! I baked all day. For you, and for my friends.” He shifted four of the boxes through _Between_ to an open spot on the table and shifted the half dozen laptop boxes to himself. “Cake, brownies, croissants, and a cheesecake, though the cheesecake really needs to rest overnight in a refrigerator before you dive in.”

To his credit, Reborn’s gaze did not slide over to the food awaiting him.

“I wonder… If this magic stuff sticks with us—these people are of the opinion that magic is of the soul rather than a genetic quirk—we might be able to have certain appliances, like a refrigerator, that use ambient energy collected by runes to power them, rather than needing an outlet. You should see the tents, Ki-san!”

Reborn’s brow went up. “Tents?”

He nodded. “They’re magically expanded on the inside, so it’s rather like the idea I had to propagate the space inside a pouch to have more room? Some of these tents are as big as a family home inside, and folding the thing up and moving it does not affect the interior. I just hope they work in the next dimension. They seem wonderful as a temporary home while getting situated—or as a handy place to stash unanticipated guests. Maybe a portable prison?”

The corner of Reborn’s mouth quirked. “I wouldn’t say no to some books.”

He grinned. “I can do that. It’s all very hush hush here, the magic thing, rather like Omertà for us, but I know you can keep a secret. It’s a shame, really, you proved to me over time you could make a friend you could trust and who could trust you in return, but…”

Reborn hummed, a bit sadly. “It’s quite not the same, doing it this way. Do you think runes could be powered with flames?”

Tsuna blinked and briefly glanced at his friends. “Uh… That’s a very good question. We’re going to have to try that. And I will include books on Ancient Runes in what I gather for you so you can play with them, too. Maybe Arithmancy, since it’s a form of—well, okay, it’s a type of numerology, not maths, really. But it’s a prerequisite for spell crafting, I believe. And a general overview, maybe history?”

“Those all sound good,” Reborn said. “Even if I can’t do anything with any of it, it’s still new reading material. What about fiction?”

Tsuna and half the room snorted in derision. “I’ll add a copy of _Hogwarts: A History_ , too, so you’ll have some backstory. Fiction around here is either romantic drivel involving romances between humans and creatures or demi-humans, or mysteries where the culprit is always a Slytherin. They might be good for a laugh, though. Think _Twilight_ , or a Ravenclaw Sherlock Holmes and a Slytherin Moriarty. I’ll throw some in. Should help highlight what nutcases some of these people can be.”

Reborn chuckled. “At least it’s not entirely boring for you. I expect being stuck with a bunch of actual children is annoying, to say the least.”

“Yeah, and at a boarding school. There’s this one kid who keeps eyeing me up. He seems to be the jealous type. Wants an in, but would resent every second of it, because it’s all reflected glory. So far we’ve kept him away, but I have to wonder if he’d be bad like a male Bianchi or what.”

Reborn wrinkled his nose. “Dios mio. If your body is a celebrity… If you hadn't already thought of this, don’t go signing anything you aren’t absolutely certain of. I don’t know if the disparity between the name of your body versus your soul would save you if you got careless.”

“Aw, fuck, I hadn't even thought of that. And yeah, I wouldn’t doubt there are people here all too eager to trick a muggle-raised boy who has both celebrity and a presumed fortune into a binding contract of some kind. Thank you for bringing that up. Shit.”

His Mists were sporting identical evil expressions at the very idea of some clueless civilian entrapping their Sky. Tsuna knew damn well they would burn the world to cinders if something happened to him.

“Maybe,” Reborn said, “fake any signatures unless absolutely required?”

“The bank would probably require the real thing,” he said, “but I won’t have access to the main vaults until this body hits seventeen, and all else failing we’ll just loot the vaults to the bedrock behind their backs using our special tricks and then kick it in a tragic accident. That aside, yes. I see no reason to ‘sign’ anything in the magical world, though it does make me wonder how I should handle homework. Maybe an illusion of a block print name placed by someone other than me? To wear off within a certain time frame? Something, I don’t know. We’ll figure it out.”

“You could go with a classic letters cut from a magazine option,” Reborn suggested with a toothy grin.

“Maybe if I plan to eradicate some of the defects here and want to leave a love note with the body. I can get them out of a tabloid or something. There’s only one potential defect here identified that’s an adult. Possibly two, but that’s due more to a hinky feeling than anything like proof.”

Daemon snorted. “And your hinky feelings are more accurate than computer calculations on most days.”

He tried to look modest, and failed miserably. It wasn’t like he had much control over his Hyper Intuition.

“The old goat?” Ken asked, then bit into a cannolo.

“Mm. There’s just something off about him, but I don’t feel it strongly enough yet that I’m willing to point one of you guys at his brain to dig around. Of course, if he really is an old goat, I’d probably have to bribe you with hazard pay for doing it. There’s a rumor been going around about how his brother was arrested for using inappropriate charms on a goat, so…”

Snickering started up.

“I think his name is Aberforth. He runs the Hog’s Head down in Hogsmeade. You know, that place that looks like a shady dive?”

“Now I’m wondering if that’s part of why we got the house so cheap,” Chikusa muttered.

Tsuna laughed merrily. “Nah, I’d believe that if the house had been near Madame Puddifoot’s. That place is like an explosion of bad taste and cliché.” He paused to yawn. “Ugh. Child bodies and their need for sleep. I think it’s time for bed. Reborn, try not to eat all that at once, okay? I’ll make you more later.”

Reborn nodded and gave everyone a salute.

Tsuna yawned again as he stored the window and flopped back on his bed. “At least we’re not still five and in need of afternoon naps.”

> #### Gringotts Break-In Latest
> 
> #### Investigations continue into the break-in at Gringotts on 31 July, widely believed to be the work of Dark wizards or witches unknown.
> 
> Gringotts goblins today insisted that nothing had been taken. The vault that was searched had in fact been emptied the same day.
> 
> “But we’re not telling you what was in there, so keep your noses out if you know what’s good for you,” said a Gringotts spokesgoblin this afternoon.

“Anyone else getting a hinky feeling about this?” he asked at breakfast, his head tilted so he could better read the _Daily Prophet_ he was sharing with Mukuro.

They left the Great Hall before that redhead was finished imitating a garbage chute and went on a mission to locate the kitchen. They had intel that it was—fine, one of the Mists had acquired the information from a staff member. They lightly tripped down the stairs off the entrance hall and toward the painting that concealed the entrance to the kitchen.

Ken stepped forward to tickle the pear, then grabbed the resulting handle to open the way. The room inside was a match for the Great Hall, complete with tables in the same locations. Presumably the house-elves loaded those with food and then sent all of it straight up.

A house-elf noticed them enter and darted over, its ears flapping with the movement, and squeaked, “Masters need something?”

Daemon smiled and drew the little guy into conversation, quickly getting the information he wanted, and then they all trooped back out and started up the grand staircase to the seventh floor. On the opposite side of the castle from the Gryffindor common room was a tapestry, peculiar mostly because the man in it was attempting to teach trolls to dance the ballet.

One more tick mark in the insanity checklist for magicals.

Once there Daemon walked back and forth three times. A door appeared, which even Tsuna had to admit was sort of cool—even in a castle where some doors were only pretending to be doors, unless the conditions were right, in which case they _were_ doors—and when Daemon opened it a room that could pass as an exact duplicate of their sitting room in Little Whinging was revealed.

Daemon quickly ushered them in and closed the door. After a few more seconds of concentration Daemon took a seat and said, “Welcome to the Room of Requirement, or, as the elves prefer to call it, the Come and Go Room. It can be pretty much whatever we require, and we can require that the doorway fades on the outside should we wish not to be disturbed.”

“Our better, safer, more private meeting place,” he said, smiling. “Probably not a bad idea to throw up barriers each time we come here, as I don’t know if we could emplace wards on an already heavily warded castle. At least it’s on the same floor as the tower. And… If this is a Room of _Requirement_ …”

Daemon nodded. “Yes, or at least I presume so. We can try requiring what we wish to study, and learn it here, rather than doing so semi-openly in the library. There is also the consideration that the staff may screen the post. We all know that to control the information is to control the greater part of any situation.”

“Good thing we have no one to write to,” Chikusa said.

“And that their—” A Bounding Box sprang up in the split second between words. “—celebrity hero lives right next door to his best friends. What say we require up ways to spy on other people and ways to disable or avoid such ways.”


	3. λ15 : 03: 1991-1992

## λ15  
03: 1991-1992

Classes were boring—aside from a tinge of malicious pleasure in seeing Granger puff up whenever one of them demonstrated they could do the spell in question before anyone else—so they concentrated on the tasks they had set themselves.

During one of their evenings in the Room (of Requirement), which they had taken to calling Roary’s to throw people off the track should any overhear, Ken had quite sensibly pointed out that Riddle had attended Hogwarts and might hold some measure of fondness for the place. That being so, he required of the room any items or artifacts that Tom Marvolo Riddle had left at the school.

There were odds and ends, but nothing of actual importance, except for one item, a gleaming diadem. Considering the man’s humble beginnings (and a penchant for thievery, as taken from the old goat’s mind based on the initial visit made to the orphanage where Riddle was housed) and his general disappearance from the world (they had tracked down a stint as a worker at a shop in Knockturn Alley, Borgin’s, which was one of the places that tragically disintegrated), the diadem moved up the scale from surprising to downright suspicious.

Add to that Tsuna’s unease with the thing…

Hayato gave a sharp nod and set about disintegrating the thing, then scowled when another of those odd clouds came out with a screaming face.

“So that’s, what, four so far?” he said, “Though I expect the one was an accident.”

Daemon required something, which came in the form of a book, and flipped through it until he found whatever he was looking for. “Numbers of significance in the magical world are three, five, seven, thirteen—you can see where this is going. Five not so much, but it really depends on the situation and what you’re attempting to accomplish.”

“With four already, we’re probably looking for seven,” Hayato concluded, “which means if he has the means, he will make at least one more, assuming we’re counting his starting portion of the soul as one of the set.”

Tsuna nodded slowly. Prime numbers and all that. That much he did remember, even though he continued to not be fond of maths in general. “We should consider checking into the area where his mother came from, the orphanage—assuming it still stands—and possibly places the orphanage staff would have taken the children as treats. Would they have done things like that back then? Would they even have the funding?”

“We may have missed something when looting known associates,” Chikusa said. “A vault makes sense, but some of these people stored things at home. We store things outside that bank or any traditional vault. Why wouldn’t they?”

“Which leads to learning more about being able to locate magic, see it, or at least detect it, and potentially curse breaking,” Mukuro added.

“Right,” he said. “So two goals. The third floor corridor, and detection and curse breaking. That’s on top of keeping an eye out for suspicious behavior related to the Dark in general and the mystery the old goat is hiding.”

Daemon frowned. “That means you’re likely to have to be along. Whatever is down that corridor will probably be protected, and we’ll need your ability to harmonize through things.”

He nodded. “My conclusion as well. I’m thinking me, a Mist, and Hayato at bare minimum, though having Chikusa along wouldn’t hurt, for his powers of tranquility. I can temporarily anchor a Bounding Box to keep people away while we’re investigating, but I do wonder if there are alarms or alerts on that corridor.”

Daemon stopped frowning. “Detection methods first, then. And because, while you can bypass a ward by not going through it, if you can’t see its boundaries… Shall we get started, then?”

“The door itself isn’t warded beyond a locking spell,” Hayato reported. “Not seeing any alerts or alarms. Conclusion: there might be something in there that someone needs to regularly attend to.”

Tsuna had set up a Bounding Box on the whole corridor that would subtly divert people to other places and other interests. “And the wall is clear.”

Hayato nodded.

Tsuna stepped forward and began the process of harmonizing his way through the stone. His only goal was to get a clear enough look at the other side to be able to open a window from the corridor. As his hand started to merge into the stone he heard Chikusa say, “What would be the effect of a highly localized Bounding Box on our leader? Would something like that deflect any tracking charms or what have you?”

He pursed his lips as his arm sank in up to the wrist. “We can test it after. Might also work as a fantastic fangirl deterrent.”

Hayato laughed. “If it does, I want one for myself! It might not get as much use here since I’m not in my usual body, but…”

He tossed a grin his Storm’s way and nodded, his arm having sunk in up to the elbow. “Okay. Here we go.” A few minutes later he was staring with minor disbelief at the three-headed dog in the room beyond the door and the enormous bone all three heads were able to gnaw on at once. He stepped _Between_ a moment later and pulled up a window so everyone could see.

“A cerberus?” Ken said. “I wonder how well one would work as a pet?”

Daemon pointed. “There, a trap door, under it. It’s guarding the way.”

“Give me a minute,” Xeul said. “I’m going to go require information on them, to see if there’s a known method we can use to bypass it, or if Chikusa will need to try tranquility.”

Tsuna nodded and reached into his storage for something to drink. He could just use a Bounding Box to deflect the beast, but holding one already unanchored doubled the strain on him. Add to that the necessity of his other talents…

After draining half the bottle he opened a window to Ki-san on a whim, and luckily he was there reading a book. “Ki-san~!”

Reborn smiled as he looked up, then his brow went up at what was visible from his side.

“We’re having an adventure,” Tsuna said happily. “I thought you might like to float along with us. We’ve just determined that there’s a cerberus behind this door here, guarding something.”

Reborn’s smile was all teeth, and his eyes sparkled. “So kind of you to think of me.”

“Always, Ki-san~! Oh, any requests for goodies? Same, different? I think I’ll send along some butterbeer next time. It’s a bit like liquid butterscotch, but diluted enough to be enjoyable. Slightly alcoholic.”

“Mm. Yes. As for what? Cannoli, and some of those pineapple tarts.”

Tsuna nodded as Xeul stepped back in. “News?”

Xeul took a second to give Reborn a nod, then said, “Music puts them to sleep. Probably a good thing I know how to play the flute—damn that Asari—because I don’t fancy shifting a piano into that room. Roary’s had one handy, and since it’s real, it must be something left behind or lost by a student. And speaking of that…”

“A fine opportunity for some extra cash,” Daemon said.

“All right. Xeul, you start playing while Daemon shifts you into the room. Once we’re certain the thing is asleep, we can open that trapdoor and get a look inside for another shift.”

Xeul did a quick cleaning spell on the instrument and started to play a lullaby. Daemon carefully slid an arm around his twin’s waist and stepped _Between_ , taking his counterpart along. The view through the window showed the beast becoming sluggish, then sleepy, and finally falling asleep.

“Mukuro, take Ken in with you. I think we’ll need more than one person to shift those paws to get at the trap door.”

Mukuro nodded and shifted the two of them inside. It was short work between the three of them—Xeul kept up his lullaby—to clear enough space to get at the trap door. On opening it, however, they revealed only darkness.

“This has to be a trap for the unwary,” Hayato said.

“Daemon or Mukuro, please step out and pick up some glow-sticks for us. I don’t think I have any in storage, but I think will from now on.”

Daemon stepped out and was shortly back with a case of the things. One was activated, tied to a string, and lowered down. “Some kind of plant…? Wait, it’s shrinking back.”

“If it doesn’t like light… So we use Earth Flames to maneuver it around until we find a clear place we can shift to, and avoid that plant altogether. I don’t remember going over whatever it is in Herbology, and if we damage that thing, it might clue in the old goat that someone is making progress through here.”

Daemon nodded and pulled the stick back up, untied it, and glanced at Mukuro before taking control of the light with flames. Mukuro opened a window and, when the glow-stick went inside, followed it with his window.

The next room was quite tall, but there was a clear space down at the bottom and a corridor leading away, so once they were certain of a location, the trap door was closed, the glow-stick left in place, and people started shifting or being shifted _Between_ to get there, with Xeul being the last, since he was ensuring the cerberus stayed asleep.

“This is way more interesting than everyday life here,” Reborn commented, looking wistful. “Just think of all the opportunities for chaos.”

Tsuna grinned. “I wish you could be here, but I’ll not risk turning you into a sentient mass of flame that absorbs all the flame around it.”

Reborn nodded, still looking wistful.

“All right, another door,” Daemon said, picking up the glow-stick.

Everyone else grabbed one (and the crate was stored), activated them, and attached them to their clothing for the time being.

“Why not use magic?” Reborn asked.

“It would tie up a wand, for one thing,” Tsuna replied, “and we don’t yet know if there’s anything down here that would be set to retaliate against magic use. We’re not aware of—wait, there are bluebell flames, I suppose. Those can be created in a jar and carried around. But nothing I can think of offhand that would create a light that stuck in place, not outside of some of the video games I’ve played. Runes might manage it, though.”

The corridor sloped downward, making Tsuna seriously question magical architecture. Daemon and Hayato were busy casting detection spells as they walked. A soft rustling and clinking sounded from farther on.

“What on Earth is that?” he muttered. “It doesn’t make me uneasy, but…”

Xeul sneaked off ahead using _Between_ to hide him, and came back a minute later to say, “Flying keys.”

He blinked. “All right? Sure. Let’s continue, then.”

They ended up in a tall, brilliantly lit chamber with a door on the side opposite them.

“Door, keys, and an obvious conclusion,” Hayato said.

“So obvious I have to wonder how a ‘proper’ magical would see it,” Ken said.

“Check the door, please,” he said. “I’ll just harmonize my way past it like the last one. There’s no point messing with fluttery keys and risking damage to any of them.”

More detection spells went out. The door was locked with a more complicated spell—certainly more complicated than the one upstairs, and the surrounding wall was clear of anything.

Tsuna nodded and stepped forward again to start harmonizing his way through. The other side was dark, even with the light from his glow-stick, but the second he stepped out of the wall, the space lit up to reveal a massive chess board and towering pieces. He blinked a few times, then stepped back to his family.

“A chess board. Door at the far end.” He opened a window to show them, and then they all shifted past the obstruction like it didn’t exist. Once they could all see their destination, another shift was done.

The door and alcove it resided in were checked for magic, then Ken opened it and promptly shrank back at the rank smell. “What is that!?” he said, burying his nose against his sleeve.

“I see a door at the far end,” Tsuna said quietly, feeling only mild unease. “And whatever that is… Chikusa?”

“On it.” His Rain went to work tranquilizing the humanoid beast right into somnolence.

“Once we’re at the door, someone set up a Mist barrier, please,” he said, then trundled forward. Hayato and Mukuro checked for magic along the way, but reported only what looked like boundaries for the beast itself. The door was reinforced but clean, as was the wall.

“I’m feeling mildly uneasy,” he said, staring at the door. “I think there’s a trap of some sort on the other side. So we open the door and look from here. Send in spies, find a place we can shift to safely.”

Everyone nodded and Mukuro opened the door.

The room itself seemed innocuous enough, but there was a parchment of some sort on a table, along with seven differently-shaped bottles in a line. There was no door at the far end, but there was what looked like a short corridor.

The Mists sent spies into the room and to the far end, while Tsuna opened a window over the parchment.

> ####  Danger lies before you, while safety lies behind,  
>  Two of us will help you, whichever you would find,  
>  One among us seven will let you move ahead,  
>  Another will transport the drinker back instead,  
>  Two among our number hold only nettle wine,  
>  Three of us are killers, waiting hidden in line.  
>  Choose, unless you wish to stay here forevermore,  
>  To help you in your choice, we give you these clues four:  
>  First, however slyly the poison tries to hide  
>  You will always find some on nettle wine’s left side;  
>  Second, different are those who stand at either end,  
>  But if you would move onward, neither is your friend;  
>  Third, as you see clearly, all are different size,  
>  Neither dwarf nor giant holds death in their insides;  
>  Fourth, the second left and the second on the right  
>  Are twins once you taste them, though different at first sight.

“Potions and logic?” he said. “This had to have been set up by Snape.”

“A fair logic puzzle,” Reborn commented, “but considering your collective talents…”

He nodded, then gazed at his Mists.

“There’s a final room over there,” Daemon reported, opening a window to show all of them. There was a table in there, rather plain, and atop it was a blood-red stone. It looked to share more qualities with amber than it did a ruby.

“That’s what he’s hiding?” Tsuna said in disbelief. “Well, let’s get in there and see what we can figure out.”

“I’ll go first,” Xeul said, “just in case. A volunteer to assist with the detection spells?”

Ken’s hand went up, so off they went, and were shortly seen to be busy casting at everything and anything in there. When an OK came back the rest of them shifted into the room and eyed the stone.

“Do you think this is connected to that article about the attempted break-in at Gringotts?” Hayato asked.

“Whatever that is,” Reborn said, his brow crinkled thoughtfully, “it can be substituted, don’t you think? Open a window to whatever version of Talbot you feel comfortable with and see if he can create a fake? He can sense more than most can. Also, check that table to see if there are any pressure-related traps, such as if the thing was lifted up.”

“Oh, good point,” he said, then ducked down to check the underside of the table. It looked normal, but… Careful examination showed that the wood appeared to be all one piece, with no seams or defects that would suggest a trap.

Tsuna pulled out a old-fashioned camera and started taking pictures from every angle. Once that was done and the camera stashed away he said, “My intuition is saying nothing bad. It’s more like neutral. Thoughts? Suggestions?”

“I say we leave it for the moment, and get in touch with Talbot—actually, would he be able to sense anything through a window?” Hayato said.

“Not a clue, but let’s find out. Assuming he’s available.” Tsuna opened a window to the dimension they solved the Arcobaleno issue in and poked around for the old man, and found him puttering around in his garden.

The old man clearly felt the eyes on him, as he said, “Ah.”

“Hello, Talbot-san,” Tsuna said. “We have a question for you, if you’re available.”

“Where have you found yourself this time?”

“A world that also has magic.”

Talbot appeared startled at that. “Magic. Is there, by chance, a personage by the name of Nicolas Flamel in that world? As more than just myth, that is.”

“Yes,” Daemon said, “though we’ve not met him. The Philos—” He paused to eye the stone. “Huh.”

“Oh my,” Talbot said. “Some of my counterparts get up to such antics. There is every chance the local Talbot is also Nicolas Flamel, which if you were to view him, would become apparent.”

“Wait, we just stumbled over your secret?” Hayato asked in disbelief. “You’re using alchemy to live approximately forever?”

Talbot scoffed. “Hundreds of years, yes, but not forever. For that to be true I would have had to come into existence at the precise moment the universe did.” He reached up to remove his blindfold, and revealed that he had a perfectly fine set of eyes that gave every indication of seeing as a normal person would. “I use the blindfold to make my alter-sight easier to work with.”

“So this stone here?” Tsuna said, pointing.

“Appears to be a philosopher’s stone, yes,” the old man replied. “What do you plan to do with it and why is it not with my counterpart?”

“We’re not sure why, but we were considering replacing it with a fake,” Tsuna said, then went on to explain the situation. “Reborn suggested we consult with you to see if you could make a credible one.”

Talbot pursed his lips. “I will craft you a credible fake. In return, I wish to handle that thing personally to see if it is the real thing or merely another credible fake. I shudder to think a counterpart of mine would be so foolish as to let a mere child attempt to protect a real one. If it _is_ a fake, I shall be reassured. If not, a time should likely be arranged to see what my counterpart is up to.”

Tsuna thought about for a half second and nodded. “Agreed. How long will it take you to make a fake?”

“Give me just a moment. Come,” Talbot said, then wandered off into the house, Tsuna’s window following him.

One of the old man’s workshops had a plethora of stones, gem-quality and otherwise, not to mention metals of all sorts. Talbot shuffled through numerous drawers and cubbies, and eventually located a stone that resembled the one in the room quite well, though not exactly.

“If you would, focus your window, or one of them, on that stone.”

Tsuna promptly opened a third window, trying to ignore how draining all this was getting to be, and focused it on the stone.

Talbot started working on the stone he had, occasionally asking Tsuna to shift the focus to another part of their stone, and an hour later had a credible fake. Tsuna acquired it when prompted and let Daemon take care of swapping the two and sending the local one to Talbot.

“Give me a bit of time to investigate this,” Talbot said, “especially since you’re looking rather peaky, young man. Inquire tomorrow evening and I will share my conclusions.”

“All right. We’ll do so. And thank you, Talbot-san, for your assistance.”

Talbot waved him off. “Tomorrow evening, perhaps nine.”

Tsuna closed the two extra windows and rubbed his face.

“Get some rest, Heul,” Reborn said. “Though I wouldn’t mind being able to join in tomorrow.”

He smiled fondly. “Sure. We’ll see you tomorrow.”

Back in their room—only a quick shift away—Daemon hustled him into the en suite and pointed at the shower. “An early night for you, I think.”

The next evening, after another boring day, Tsuna opened a window to Reborn, who had clearly been waiting for it, and then one to Talbot of λ10, the Solution dimension.

“Ah, young ones,” Talbot greeted them. “The stone you sent over is a fake, a very good one. That having been determined, I should like to point out that my counterpart has placed a mark at the very center, visible only to alter-sight, which clearly marks it as one of his creations.” He pointed to the stone and made shooing motion with one hand.

Daemon acquired the stone back and set it down.

“Any advice for us before we attempt, at some point, to speak to your counterpart?” Tsuna asked. “Right now we’re magicals. It’s not time yet for us to shed these roles and return to what we’ve known, though that part might not matter with him.”

Talbot nodded. “If he’s anything like me…? I would say check in the usual location and leave a note, along with that fake as proof. If you’ve some place he can reply to, innocuous and unremarkable to the wrong sorts, much the better. You said you’re at a school for magic, yes?”

“Yep. Which makes all of this quite suspicious. Why would the headmaster here put something like the Philosopher’s Stone out as bait and place every person here, most of them students, into danger? It’s a dangerous game he’s playing, and we’ll have to dig a bit deeper, it seems.”

His Mists exchanged a look that promised results.

“I can only hope my counterpart was unaware of the purpose behind the fake. Either that, or he believes magicals in general aren’t worth saving if they do stupid things after being taught to ignore the brains they were born with.”

Tsuna couldn’t refute that line of thinking considering the sheer amount of idiocy he had seen already amongst the Hogwarts population in general. “All right. We’ll work from there, then. Thank you.”

“Mm. If you require further insight or an outside point of view, do contact me. But for now, I have things I must do.”

Tsuna nodded and closed the window. “Huh. Anyone else thinking what I am?”

Hayato eyed him. “That all of that is more of a test than protection? Nothing there was something a determined first year could not have powered through. Seriously. A plant that I have since determined we’re to learn about this year? Flying keys when half the population is quidditch mad and likes to fly? Chess? The troll? That’s more of an issue, admittedly. And the logic puzzle was probably the hardest of them all, considering magicals do like to pretend that logic and common sense are irrelevant to daily life.”

“So Longbottom, Weasley, Granger, and our hero?” Mukuro suggested.

“If so, we’ve nixed that combination early,” he said. “Neville is timid, probably from the abuse—which reminds me we might want to look into his Great Uncle Algie—and what confidence he has is being steadily eroded by Snape. He also never puts himself forward. Weasley may or may not be a whiz at chess, but otherwise he’s only interested in flying, eating, and sleeping.

“Granger hasn’t yet been indoctrinated into misplacing the greater part of her brain, so the logic puzzle would have been easy enough for her, especially with a spare bit of paper and a pencil to help chart it out. That leaves either Weasley for the keys, or the old goat is expecting me to be a decent flyer, and those lessons aren’t for another week.”

“I suggest you do get into contact with Flamel, then,” Reborn said, “if only to ensure he knows what the fake’s being used for. I’ve no doubt he can protect himself, but if your Dark Lord does get his hands on the thing and realizes it’s a fake…”

Tsuna nodded.

His Mists immediately bent heads together to plot, so that was presumably sorted.

“Is the issue of the strain due to your age, or…?”

Tsuna eyed his friend blankly. “I don’t usually hold open so many cross-dimensional windows at once, so I’m not sure. There’s also the complication of having harmonized through several walls, which always takes a fair bit out of me. I wouldn’t be surprised if the age of this body is a contributing factor.”

Off to the side, Mukuro began crafting a letter with the help of Daemon and Xeul. Hayato, Chikusa, and Ken had also gone into a huddle and begun plotting.

“The very idea of being here for seven years is such a drag. Though, there’s a set of twins here you might find amusing. The Weasley twins. They’re pranksters, though some of what they do is downright childish, and some of it might cross the line into bullying. They appear to have brilliantly creative minds for this sort of thing.”

“Oh? Do tell,” Reborn said, his brow going back up in that imperious way.

Great Uncle Algie was given an attitude adjustment, one that saw him “accidentally” defenestrated without benefit of wand. Tsuna had heard that the funeral was lovely, though Neville seemed a touch upset over the whole thing. Augusta, Neville’s grandmother and regent, was also given an attitude adjustment, but in her case it took the form of a swift kick in the arse regarding her attempts to pretend Neville was her son, rather than a person in his own right.

Neville had been overheard in the common room stating that he was being taken to get a new wand during the Yule holiday.

Tsuna could only hope no more was heard about the boy being abused, or he might end up with even fewer living relatives once Samsara got done taking action. Hayato, Chikusa, and Ken were still plotting with regard to the Longbottom family, so who knew what else they might come up with.

With regard to Flamel, a letter had been placed, along with a box containing the fake, in one of Talbot’s more frequently used workshop rooms. Included were two options for contact. One, a post box in Diagon Alley, rented for that purpose, and two, a dead drop in Rome. Hopefully Talbot would be intrigued enough to respond to a message from someone so clearly both magical and mafia.

Another look at the old goat’s mind revealed that yes, it was a trap, both for Harry Potter and for the Dark Lord, though the old man did not seem all that concerned about either. He was suspicious of the scar the Boy-Who-Lived was famous for and wondering if it was anything like a Horcrux.

However, having no evidence to prove that given Harry Potter’s complete lack of expression with regard to such a hypothesis, it led the old man to believe that if it was related, the boy was unaffected, though he did not rule out the possibility that whatever Dark magic was in that scar (he clearly had not taken a close look at Harry Potter at any point prior to Samsara having obtained the house next door to № 4 to see if the “dark magic” had adversely affected the child in any way) could become active and make magical Britain’s hero into a liability or threat.

The other factor brought up from the most recent investigation into the old goat’s mind was that he had been searching for some years as to ways in which Tom Riddle, self-styled Lord, could have prevented his final death, which led back to the topic of Horcruxes. The man had searched for evidence of whatever Riddle might have used, had obtained memories he could study, and analyze, and study some more.

Keeping a wary eye on the old man was definitely in order, for it might come down to actively having him or one of his lackeys after his head. Having a localized Bounding Box was looking more attractive every day.

Daemon had called attention to one memory in particular, taken from a Ministry official, one who had gone to the Gaunt shack.

“He ‘won’ against them,” Daemon said, “so to speak. With the protections already on the place, plus any he added, might have been deemed sufficient to hide one of his shards.”

“In addition,” Mukuro butted in, “they were insane, so I would expect insane protections. We aren’t nearly good enough at detecting to risk that place, not if we intend to keep living for long.”

“So we nudge the old goat that way,” Xeul said. “Maybe he’ll run afoul of whatever protects what we suspect is there. And if not, and he comes after you at some point, he will die.”

Tsuna nodded his approval. “So let’s table that shack for the moment. There is at least one more, possibly two. Do we sit back the remainder of this year and observe, research, learn, or continue to be active?” His personal preference was to take a step back, but he wasn’t going to say that so as not to sway the others.

Everyone looked down, recognizing his tactic, and considered, then looked up and nodded. “Step back,” Hayato voiced for them.

“Awesome,” he replied.

Charms class went well, if one was of the opinion that Weasley sending the Granger girl off in tears to be a good thing. Tsuna sent off a spy after getting a nudge and continued on his way. The girl refused to come out of the bathroom she’d holed up in, one rarely used, and missed several classes.

Clearly a sign for an impending apocalypse.

At dinner, the Halloween feast was in full swing, with thousands of bats (Tsuna dearly hoped they weren’t real and therefore would not be dropping guano everywhere), carved pumpkins, and their plates and tableware were golden again, as they had been at the opening feast.

He was just helping himself to a jacket potato when Quirrell sprinted into the Great Hall, his turban askew and terror on his face. On reaching the head table he slumped against it across from the old goat’s chair and gasped, “Troll—in the dungeons—thought you ought to know.”

Quirrell then slumped down in a dead faint.

Tsuna’s brow went up at such awful acting and knew his dinner was in imminent danger of being taken away from him.

It took several purple firecrackers exploding from the end of Dumbledore’s wand to bring silence to the screaming panic that had erupted. “Prefects, lead your houses back to the dormitories immediately!”

“Wow,” he whispered. “He must want a lot of students dead.” He opened a window only Samsara could see as he got up and prepared to follow Pompous.

Daemon promptly created a clone to take his place and disappeared. Tsuna watched as Granger’s head snapped up at something only she could hear, and then raced for the safety of Gryffindor tower, wiping away tears as she ran.

Daemon seamlessly blended back in with and absorbed his clone, and on they went, at least until Ken made a disgusted sound and covered his nose.

A look went around. ‘Shit,’ he thought, ‘the troll is up here somewhere.’

“What is that smell!?” Chikusa complained.

Pompous looked frightened and trying to hide it as he hurried his charges along down a different path. It would make getting back to the tower take twice as long, but it was good thinking on his part.

Tsuna did wonder where the hell the _other_ prefects were during this crisis. Pompous seemed to be the only one who gave a damn about his duty.

His spy was dismissed the second Granger entered the tower, so at least he knew she was safe.

Dinner service was resumed once they were secure, and Tsuna got his jacket potato with sour cream and butter, as well as some steak and asparagus. It still wasn’t the best cooking, but it was decent enough.

“So, I expect that was a ploy to get at the bait,” he said once in their dorm. “Kind of stupid when you think about it. Why not just go after it in the dead of night rather than having everyone awake, scared, and staff members crawling all over the school. The dungeons can’t be that extensive, can they?”

“Eh,” Hayato said. “It takes one hell of a foundation to support a building this size, even with magic playing a part. They might be way bigger than we’ve ever seen. After all, we never go farther than down that staircase to the Potions classroom. And _Hogwarts: A History_ says that the Slytherin common room is actually under the lake.”

“What?” Ken said. “The castle is up on a cliff for fuck’s sake. The lake is way far down.”

Daemon shook his head. “I’m going to chalk this up to the insanity that is magic and not worry about that.”

“Still,” Xeul said, “the headmaster is connected to the castle wards—or I at would at least hope so. There are portraits everywhere that probably tell him things. House-elves, too. I should think there would be eyes everywhere. I agree with Tsuna, doing this now was foolish.”

The sign-up sheet for those staying at Hogwarts for the winter holiday made the rounds, and all seven of them ignored it. Tsuna wondered if this would equate to, in the minds of people like Dumbledore and McGonagall, the idea that his home life was at least adequate, if not downright loving and homey.

He rolled his eyes and went on his way, his family keeping his sides and back protected as always, especially from fans and detractors of the school-aged sort.

Snape, when it came down to it, wasn’t much of an open threat. He sneered, he slandered, he barked and boasted, but in the end, his word functioned as a leash. And the more Tsuna blithely ignored all of it, the more frustrated the man got. Tsuna sometimes wondered if the man honestly thought he was doing the child of his schoolboy rival a favor by attempting to keep him from getting a swelled head.

That tactic might work on a true child, but not on someone who was approaching two hundred years old and had already gone through more than one life being the whipping boy of everyone in the vicinity.

The old goat did send the occasional glance his way during meals, but otherwise seemed to treat him as any other student.

A week later they were riding the Express back to London—or so it seemed. They grabbed a private compartment for themselves, Tsuna set up a temporary Bounding Box, and then they all shifted to № 6 and sighed with relief.

One of the Mists opened a window to keep an eye out for when Tsuna would need to release his creation, but aside from that they ignored the far-too-long journey everyone else was taking.

“Free at last!” he cried, then dashed into the kitchen to hug his stand mixer.

Daemon snorted in laughter at his silliness and begged him prettily for a proper lunch.

“Italian, Japanese, Chinese, American…?”

“I vote Mexican,” said Ken.

He hummed. “I could do fajitas, or a taco salad.”

Ken got starry-eyed in response.

“Everyone all right with Mexican?” he called.

A rush of bodies piled into the kitchen and nodded.

“Right, let’s get to shopping, then.”

A bit later they had an assembly line of sorts going. One chopped lettuce, one did peppers, and so on. Tsuna took ingredients as necessary and began to cook, though he let one of the others handle deep frying the tortillas into bowl shapes, and assembled taco salad for everyone, while Ken took care of setting out various strengths of a dressing somewhere between a sauce and a salsa, as well as sour cream.

They had a lovely lunch with plenty of flavor and crunch and texture and came to a decision to visit Disney World that summer and experience lots of different food all in the same place.

Oddly, on Christmas morning, Tsuna found a hand-wrapped gift on the bed he never used at № 4, from an anonymous source. Inside was a admonition to use it well, penned in loopy writing, and an invisibility cloak. That got chucked straight into storage as being quaint.

It became clear that something was wrong with Quirrell when he attempted to kill Tsuna. It was positively rude just how obvious he made the attempt, too, nothing at all like a seasoned mafioso.

Daemon lashed back with a bit of mind-fuckery and Quirrell wandered off in the opposite direction, stuttering something about preparing for class.

They continued on their way to dinner, as if nothing had happened.

That evening they convened at Roary’s to discuss the event. Daemon started off by saying, “We need to do an in-depth on him.”

“Agreed. I still have a tendency to liquefy or explode people, so…”

His Mists smirked at him and nodded.

He left it at that, knowing the three would flit off on their assignment and let him know the results when they were again in a safe spot.

“Any observations to share?”

“Longbottom seems to be doing much better,” Ken offered. “The change in wand and the death of an abuser seems to have perked him right up and helped with his confidence.”

“Weasley is still a lazy idiot.”

“Granger still nags anyone who dares to breathe in her vicinity.”

“Brown and Patil giggle incessantly and talk about beauty and boys.”

“Finnegan is still trying to turn water into rum, while Thomas tries to convince him and anyone else he can catch that football is the superior sport.”

“And the rest are more like cardboard cutouts of people than actual people with how they blend into the background so well. I’m almost afraid that if you shot water at them they would dissolve.”

He nodded. “So Longbottom has a chance at becoming a man, while the rest… I hate to say it, but they rather sound like the trash Xanxus goes on about so much. And speaking of that family, we need to take some time this summer to look in on the brothers three. Again, I want us to do our best to ensure that my counterpart is not the only one in the end. We still don’t know how to fix the blood-lock on those stupid rings.”

He pondered for a moment, mainly to see if his intuition would kick up an idea, then continued, “Right, that’s it for now.”

Daemon had a very weird look on his face the next night at Roary’s, as did Xeul and Mukuro.

Tsuna’s brow went up slowly. There wasn’t much that would make his Mists wibbly.

“The Dark Lord is a parasite on the back of Quirrell’s head.”

“Oh, joy,” he said dryly. “And the old goat is either blind to it, or salivating over the idea of a confrontation? Too bad for him we’re not going near that room again to be his test cases or pawns. Anyway, Quirrell’s goal is the stone, I presume.”

“Yes, as part of some ritual to restore the Dark Idiot to life, one assumes. I imagine the gold it’s rumored to create would be a welcome bonus, though anyone with sense would realize that it would completely destabilize the value. The Elixir of Life… Does anyone even know if someone with Horcruxes would still die properly if it was a natural death, such as old age?”

A look went round, and faces were blank.

“I’ve yet to see anything about that,” Hayato said, “not from any of the books we’ve acquired or required. I’ll look into it again, with this focus. If we find them all, though, it won’t matter in the end except for peace of mind.”

He shrugged. “It’d still be interesting to know. Let’s work on runes tonight so we can get closer to tinkering with those laptops. Months of not having my favorite forms of entertainment is torture.”

Quirrell tried a few more times to off Harry Potter, but as the Mists were on guard and Ken could smell the man coming from a mile away, nothing ever came of those attempts. The year rolled on with boring classes, endless whispers about the Boy-Who-Lived (some in awe, some in disdain, and more than a few claiming he was a stuck-up snob), and learning as much as they could about Ancient Runes.

Tsuna would step out at the weekend to do some baking, both for them and as a treat for Reborn, but generally their time was laid back.

Exams came and they breezed through them.

Then Quirrellmort made his next move. Daemon spied out that Dumbledore had left the castle—how convenient—and Quirrell looked particularly pleased by that.

They exchanged a look and Tsuna opened a window so they could watch. All they lacked was popcorn.

Mukuro stepped out long enough to fetch some.

Quirrell bore a nasty expression of arrogance on his way to the third floor corridor. A harp was spelled to play to get the cerberus to fall asleep, and once through the trap door Quirrell quickly used fire to get the Devil’s Snare to back off. The poor key was brutally manhandled—

“What kind of locking spell is on that door that a professor can’t open it?” he muttered.

—and shoved into the lock, twisted, and released to flutter brokenly back to its fellows. Quirrell was off in a flash, using his wand to blow up chess pieces as he raced across the board.

(Tsuna opened a second window just so he could see what happened to them afterward.)

The troll was summarily offed, and the logic puzzle wasn’t even a brief hesitation, as Quirrell used some spell or other—non-verbal on his part—to inure himself against the black flames. The final room no longer held a table with the stone. Instead there was a standing mirror.

“Eh?”

(The chess pieces pulled themselves back together and retook their places on the board; Tsuna dismissed the window.)

They watched for a while, eating popcorn, as Quirrell paced back and forth before the mirror, muttering to himself, pausing occasionally to peer into it. He was clearly seeing something they could not.

Xeul opened a window and focused on the writing that ran around the border. “I see not your face but your heart’s desire. Backward writing. How adorable.” The window was stored away again.

It became clear over time the danger the mirror presented. Quirrell kept pausing to look into it, and started spending more time doing that than pacing and muttering. Soon enough he was seated on the floor before it, just staring.

“You still have that spy on the old goat?”

“Yes. He’s having a gillywater at the Three Broomsticks. Seems remarkably unconcerned. Flirting awkwardly with Rosmerta.” 

“Riiiight. What the hell is he waiting for, then? For this guy to be completely under the spell of the mirror? Or for Harry Potter to race off to protect something he’s by all rights not even aware of?”

“Probably the former,” Hayato said. “It is an interesting defense, I admit. But…”

“Yeah,” Mukuro said, “that doesn’t mean the face on the back of his head is likewise entranced.”

Tsuna started to feel a mite uneasy. “If I step out suddenly, it’ll be because the parasite breaks free. In fact, let’s toss up a nice illusion here of all seven of us, and go to the house. We’ll keep watching, but…”

Never one to question that sort of directive, the Mists teamed up to create the illusion of the seven of them sleeping peacefully in their beds.

Tsuna strengthened the Bounding Box, then they all shifted to № 6 to continue their vigil.

Mukuro opened a window to their dorm room just in case someone managed to get past the protections to check on them.

“Worried that the Dark Spirit will come looking for you?” Chikusa asked quietly.

“Sort of. I was uneasy. Better safe than sorry.”

Dumbledore seemed to get tired of flirting and wandered back to the castle—though he had told McGonagall he would not be back until morning—and up to the third floor corridor. The various protections had obviously been enchanted in some way to ignore the headmaster, as he walked through them as if they didn’t exist.

In the final room…

The Dark Lord seemed to become aware of his minion’s predicament and broke free. Quirrell dropped dead on the spot. The wraith spotted Dumbledore and dove at him—why they could not tell—and Dumbledore tried some fancy, complicated magic.

The end result was the wraith flying right through the old man, who looked weakened by it, and then through the stone wall.

Dumbledore took a moment to rest, with a somewhat sulky look on his face, then went up to the mirror. A moment later he reached _into_ it and retrieved the fake stone. “It is a sad thing,” the old man said quietly. “I shall have to convince my old friend of the need for this to be destroyed. Voldemort will just keep seeking it to effect his return.”

Tsuna blinked. “What, the man’s suddenly forgotten the Fidelius Charm exists? Or hiding it in plain sight? Good thing Talbot gave him a fake to begin with.”

“I’ll write up a letter to let Talbot know what happened, so he can react accordingly,” Mukuro said.

“Thank you. If the Dark Lord is a parasite, I expect he’ll find someone new to attach himself to. Or an animal, perhaps. Let’s give it an hour or so, and then we’ll go back. Sooner if the old man heads toward Gryffindor tower.”

The Leaving Feast saw them using golden plates and utensils again. They’d been told that Quirrell had been called away by an emergency and nothing more was said on that matter aside from normal exams for Defense having been canceled that year.

Slytherin colours were up—no surprise with how Snape handed points out like sweets to his own house and took them from others—but considering the students never actually saw the House Cup except by chance, anyone who cared about that had clearly been drinking the Kool-Aid.

A suspicious look was sent at the pitchers of too-sweet pumpkin juice.

Slytherin House looked prideful and arrogant, as if they themselves had had anything to do with winning the cup.

“Probably a very good thing we decided against them,” he muttered.

“I’m still wondering why we’re having the Leaving Feast when we don’t actually leave for two weeks,” Ken grouched, stabbing a carrot moodily.

“Exam results are supposed to be out on Thursday, but we don’t leave until the twentieth, a Saturday. OWLs and NEWTs are done at the same time as normal exams, just in here, and the Ministry is the one scoring those. So basically, more magical idiocy?”

“Parents who want a few extra weeks of peace before getting their kids back?” Tsuna suggested. “Let’s just lay low.”

With exams over everyone had a lot more free time. Classes were still on, but the teachers spent that time giving an overview of what to expect the next year and offering help with any spells a student was having troubles with. They were warned there would be summer homework, to further help prepare them for next year.

They were all pleased to board the Hogwarts Express, temporarily ward a compartment, and step _Between_ to avoid the lengthy ride.

The first thing they did was go out for pizza. They never served pizza at Hogwarts.

His Mists opened windows to the Iron Fort and sent in spies to cover the three brothers.

“The Iron Fort here is the same configuration as two dimensions ago,” Daemon reported a week later.

He shuffled memories around in his head, then nodded. “The boys?”

Daemon rolled his eyes. “Strutting peacocks, all three of them. Timoteo is hopeless at being a father.”

Tsuna sighed. “We’ll keep an eye on them. Worst case we ensure they get married and start popping out babies, to keep the line alive. That’s the only reason I’m giving a fuck about the Vongola right now. I’m starting to think the only way to fix this is to arrive early enough and give Teo-jiji a swift kick in the arse via attitude adjustment.

“Or, you know, find a way to deal with that blood-lock. Teo-jiji and his sons are sending Vongola straight into the toilet with their idiocy. Or! Or,” he said, “land far enough back that we personally vet whoever the hell it is Daniella ends up procreating with to get a child other than Teo-jiji and is raised with at least half a brain if not more!”

Daemon pulled him into a hug and smothered him with affection to get him to shut up.

Letters arrived on the twelfth of August. To stagger first years and older years at Diagon Alley? There was the minor issue of Harry Potter’s letter being missing, but they made a note of that and otherwise ignored the oddity.

Mukuro volunteered to go get their supplies, but Hayato raised the objection that the old goat might have watchers reporting back to him about whether or not Harry Potter showed up as expected.

Tsuna heaved a sigh and nodded, so they went the next day, slipping through the crowd like ghosts to pick up various books (had to keep up appearances), new robes, parchment, and so on. There was supposed to be some thing going on the next week, some famous author coming to sign books—

Tsuna glanced the utter crap they’d been forced to purchase, written by Gilderoy Lockhart, and heaved another sigh.

—and people were twittering madly (rather like his owl did) about being sure to be there to get their very own autograph from the man. Kami help them all.

“You do realize the man needs to die, right?” he asked conversationally back at the house.

“Quite possibly,” Mukuro said. “No one but a narcissistic twat would force students to buy all of his books if he wasn’t the one hired for Defense this year. We see if he’s as much of an idiot as we think, poke around in his brain, and then probably arrange for a tragic accident to remove another defect from infecting other people.”

Tsuna flapped his hand and wandered off to the kitchen to do some baking. He opened a window to see if Reborn was available to talk (he was) so he could blow off some steam and tease his friend at the same time.

“So what was the outcome?”

“Ah. The Dark Lord was a parasite on the back of Quirrell’s head this whole time,” he said as he measured out flour. “The old goat left the school, probably on purpose—I mean, he did tell McGonagall that he was going to _fly_ to the Ministry, which is patently ridiculous—and Quirrell seemed pleased. He raced off to go whip through the protections on the stone while the old goat spent time at a pub in the village, having a drink and flirting with the proprietor.

“He got all the way to the end, and we saw that the table had been replaced by an enchanted mirror. The reversed writing on it said, ‘I show not your face but your heart’s desire,’ and it was a doozy of a trap.”

“A mirror?”

“Yeah. You look into it and see just that, your heart’s desire. Did a bit of research after the fact. Many people have been claimed by that mirror, so desperate for what they see in it that they sit there and waste away. And that’s what was happening to Quirrell at the end.”

“That can’t be all.”

“Nah.” He measured out the milk he needed and poured into his mixer, then set it going. “The Dark Lord apparently woke up from his nap, realized his minion was enthralled, and started to make a break for it. The old goat wandered in right on time, but his complicated swishy wand movements were useless against a wraith.

“Quirrell ended up with a blown out head and death for his troubles, the Dark Wraith got away—though not before swooping dramatically through the headmaster—and the old goat got all sulky that his big plan failed. He also decided that the stone needed to be destroyed, so we sent a message to Talbot about it so he could act all surprised and resigned and shit. I assume Flamel dies and Talbot becomes Talbot full time.”

“Something tells me this next year will be just as weird,” Reborn commented.

“You and me both, Ki-san. We’re thinking that this year’s Defense professor will be an author, a beloved celebrity who writes utter tosh about his alleged adventures fighting off various beasties. The book list for this coming year has every student buying a copy of every damn book he’s written, and what better way to force better sales to rise?”

Reborn snorted. “And here I thought I was full of myself.”

Tsuna laughed merrily. “We already plan to investigate to see if our theory pans out. If necessary, well…” A serene smile slid into place before he moved on with his baking, adding cocoa powder to the mix and some cinnamon.

“The worst part is having to stick around here most of the time because of those stupid blood wards. If I’m not where expected, I think the old goat would have a coronary and start a nation-wide search. We already think he’s defective, but we’ll see how it goes. If necessary, well…”

He shut the machine off and started scooping the batter into paper liners.

“I don’t suppose you’re going to be making cheesecake anytime soon?” Reborn said hopefully.

“For you, Ki-san~? Sure. I will make one today, and you can have it tomorrow, after it has properly rested in the refrigerator. Would you like a compote to go with it or…?”

Reborn pursed his lips. “I’m feeling feisty. How about a drizzle of caramel around the edges and a bit on top?”

“Sure~!” He was already planning the smiley face with a toothy grin he could “draw”.

“There are days I wish the local Tsuna was like you.”

Tsuna blinked, then shook his head. “No you don’t, because then you would be flirting with him and not me!”

“It would still be nice if he could cook!”

Tsuna sent his friend a sad look. “Even if you did manage to shore him up with some extra spine, Ki-san, I still feel pity for the poor guy. True, it’s not easy constantly jumping dimensions and dealing with all this stuff repeatedly, but I’d still rather this than being stuck behind that desk and drowning in paperwork.”

“Mm. How did you die the last time, anyway? You didn’t mention.”

Tsuna shuffled his feet in embarrassment. “Uh… I was eaten by a shark?”

Reborn stared for a long moment before he busted out laughing. “All those times you faked your own death by shark attack, and it happened for real?” He went right back to laughing.

He kept a sulky look on his face, but inside he was laughing and pleased. He got Reborn to let loose again.

In the other room Daemon shared a look with his fellow Mists. “Do you think he even realizes he’s in love with Reborn?”

Xeul snorted and Mukuro shook his head. “Not a chance in Hell,” Mukuro said. “I adore Heul, but he is kind of thick at times, especially when it comes to relationships.”

“I remember, that one day,” Daemon said softly. “In the world where we created Samsara. I had mentioned I had a face I could use to go after the information we wanted from Talbot. He had this look on his face. He was practically bleeding worry for me, but he didn’t seem to realize just how much he cared. That was the day I honestly started to wonder if I could harmonize with him.”

Mukuro shifted his weight, which told Daemon he was feeling out of his comfort zone. “The day I finally got that he was … genuine … not like those Estraneo bastards, that he honestly wanted us to be safe and well trained, and that he would fight for our sake…”

“And he’s a divine cook,” Xeul said, which lightened the mood again and made the other two smile.

“I suggest,” he said slowly, sliding plates onto the table with Ken’s help, “that if that Lockhart fellow is the fraud we think he is, we borrow his vault key, and go loot it in his guise.”

They _had_ tried to get through those books, but everyone had given up in disgust barely half a chapter in.

“Motion carried,” Daemon said, picking up his fork.

“I think we skipped the voting part,” Chikusa said, “but I agree.”

“I’ll open a window so we know when he arrives in to Diagon Alley to sign autographs,” Daemon said. “Then I can step over, rummage through his head while he’s playing peacock, and if he is a fraud, I’ll mind-fuck him into visiting his vault so we know where it is, and have a view of the inside. Then we drain him dry.”

“Excellent plan,” Tsuna said. “And if he is the one slated to be the new Defense professor, just think of all the fun we can have with him.”

Ken grinned.

Suns could do some interesting things with their flames, and for a peacock dandy like Lockhart…

When the time came Daemon did as promised and opened a window to the interior of Flourish & Blotts to keep an eye out for when the peacock showed up. It wasn’t a bother considering they were all playing Cluedo and he was the odd man out that time.

“Ah,” Daemon said as the noise level of transmitted sound rose dramatically. There was even girly squealing coming through and far too many sighs. “There’s my cue.”

Tsuna absently opened a window of his own so they could all witness the train wreck in progress, and Daemon stored his and stepped out. Lockhart didn’t even seem to notice that someone was rifling through his brain and carried on playing to his audience of adoring and air-headed fans.

He was amused and appalled at just how many older women were there, blushing and adjusting their hair and twittering like barely pubescent girls.

They managed to get through their game and start another one before indigo words formed in the air, reading: He’s a fraud, and the only spells he can actually cast are the Memory and False Memory Charms and personal grooming ones. I’m proceeding with the plan, so it’ll be late when I get back. Don’t want this guy to get away.

“I wonder how much gold we’ll get?” Xeul mused. “And if he’ll be stupid enough to complain to the goblins and start another revolt.”

“After all, stealing from Gringotts is impossible!” Ken crowed.

“Ah, but we aren’t stealing from Gringotts,” Tsuna pointed out. “We’re stealing from Lockhart. Totally different thing.”

“It’s very important information that he can mess with people’s memories,” Mukuro said. “All those books are probably about other people’s accomplishments, except that they don’t remember any of it now.”

“So we pay him back in kind later?” Ken said.

“Very likely,” he said. “I want a more detailed report from Daemon first. But yes, if we’re all in agreement. I realize my morals are skewed, but a parasite like that should not be left to prey on people. And face it, losing his memories would be the ultimate irony if we went that route.”

Daemon did not get home until evening. When he did arrive he had a sly smile on his face. “I cleared everything out, even the garbage, into a couple of those extended trunks and shoved them into storage. We can melt it all down later into ingots.”

“Just how bad is he?”

“He gets wind of some big deal happening,” Daemon said as he took a seat, “whatever ends up being the subject of the book—and books it there as quickly as possible. Interviews everyone who knows anything, and then alters or erases their memories of the event. The one who actually accomplished the deed is similarly interviewed so he has the right details, then he alters their memories to again support his version of events. Then he goes off and writes his next book, gets it published, and makes a boat-load of gold.”

“You said memory charms and personal grooming spells? Seriously? He’s that lame?”

Daemon grimaced and nodded. “He is exceptional with memory charms, and for whatever reason, personal grooming charms are equally easy for him. Anything else and he’ll fumble it. Which should make class interesting, I suppose. He is a complete publicity hound, and he already has it in mind to use you, darling, in class, as a sort of assistant. He seems to be under the impression that you’re as much of a media whore as he is.”

Tsuna frowned. “Did you get or can you get information on his victims? So we can, like, haunt him with their ghosts as a prank? We’ve already agreed that erasing most of his memories is a likely option, but I’m thinking I want him to suffer first.”

“Of course, darling Heul. Between me, Xeul, and Mukuro, we can get everything we need from that brain of his.”


	4. λ15: 04: 1992-1994

## λ15  
04: 1992-1994

Tsuna had a strange feeling that morning as he prepared bentos for the train ride so he said, “We’re shifting onto the train today. Something is up, I just don’t know what. I have the distinct feeling that some entity will try to deny me entrance to the platform, and I’d prefer to bypass that. Hopefully, whatever it is, it won’t try to derail the train as a Plan B.”

The others furrowed their brows or frowned, but nodded.

He finished up the last bento, put the lid on, and snapped the bindings in place so it wouldn’t open unexpectedly, then tossed it into storage like the others. Then he started on breakfast.

At ten Mukuro opened a window into the train compartment they always used and saw it was clear, so they shifted into it and got comfortable. The usual Bounding Box went up to keep out other students, and they settled in for a far-too-long ride and multiple rounds of Cluedo.

It started pissing rain as they got closer to the school, which was depressing, but they would soon enough duck into a carriage and from there into the school, so it wasn’t completely terrible, just mostly terrible. And besides, they could use Earth Flames to keep the rain off them and illusion to make it look as if they’d been wet on.

He zoned out through most of the sorting, though it was a bit difficult to ignore the girl with Weasley hair that kept glancing at him and blushing, before and after she was sorted into Gryffindor. Just what he needed, a fangirl in his own house. He resolved to ensure she wouldn’t ever come near his dorm room, and he strongly considered that localized Bounding Box idea again.

Herbology the next day was interesting only because Lockhart tried to waylay him on his way to Greenhouse Three, but he was deftly distracted by illusion. True, re-potting mandrakes was vaguely interesting, if only because Tsuna’s mind immediately went to ways to use the things as a weapon of mass death. Imagine putting a half dozen mature mandrakes into the Estraneo compound! Well, at least long enough to kill off as many as possible before shifting them into a lake or something to drown out their screams.

That afternoon, sadly, was Defense. After a near miss at lunch with a camera-toting first year who looked far too interested in Harry Potter, they escaped to Roary’s to wait until class.

“Why do I have the horrible feeling that the boy will start a fan club with the Weasley girl?” he said. After a sigh he fetched a ring out of storage and got to work crafting an anchored Bounding Box that would subtly push anyway anyone who was not keyed in to the thing. Anything to keep the fans away; they were a damn plague he had never had to deal with as Dame-Tsuna.

Off to the side, his Mists were in a huddle with the others, probably plotting Lockhart’s torture. A three-dimensional image appeared at one point, most likely one of the dandy’s victims, and evil laughter rang through the room every so often.

He smiled. It was always nice when his family enjoyed themselves.

The next time Defense class rolled around, Lockhart was looking spooked. He was nervous and jumped at the slightest of things. The ghosts lurking at the edges of the classroom, unseen by any but Samsara and Lockhart, had nothing to do with that, surely.

He was amused to note, one of the times he looked directly at Lockhart, that his Sun was having fun with a bit of tightly-controlled cell division, as a nasty mole was sprouting on the side of the man’s face. Given that no one was commenting on the event, he had to assume one of his Mists was busy keeping it hidden from casual view.

Perhaps he should keep a window on the man to see and hear his reaction when he finally noticed the thing?

Sadly, if they offed him now, the old goat, the board, or the Ministry would potentially saddle them with someone even worse.

He did his best to ignore the fluttery coy looks and blushes from the baby Weasley at dinner that night and camera-boy’s looks of hope, admiration, and awe. Thankfully, the localized Bounding Box was keeping both of them at a distance.

The mostly unseen “ghosts” continued to harass Lockhart during dinner, which put the man off his food, though he made a valiant effort to appear cheerful and thrilled to see so many students shooting him looks of admiration or competing to see who could blush the most.

Life continued on at a boring pace until Halloween.

Tsuna started getting uneasy feelings again, which put the others on guard. The feast was noisy and colourful and children were eating far too many sweets. He could barely hear himself think with the cacophony around him.

Indigo words flamed in the air: I’m calling this. We’re going to create clones to take our places and step out. You are way too nervous, darling.

Tsuna nodded slightly and didn’t so much as twitch when he felt the semi-solid illusion form around him.

More flames read: Done. Heul first, and then we three bring the others.

Tsuna stepped out, wobbling as his seat went from a chair to the edge of his bed. The others shifted into place moments later.

A window opened to keep an eye on the feast. The food they’d been eating was shifted to them, onto plates taken from storage, and illusions left in their place. No point in letting that food go to waste. Nothing happened to disturb the feast, but being removed from it did allow them to take note of certain people being missing, amongst them Weasley, Granger, and baby Weasley.

“Ronald missing a feast? Is the world coming to an end?” Chikusa said.

“I just do not understand why Weasley and Granger hang out together,” Hayato said, wrinkling his nose. “It’s like some twisted thing where he equates her with his mother or something and reacts like he would with her.”

“Why would baby Weasley be with them, though? Ronald barely even acknowledges that he has a sister. None of the Weasley males do.”

“Unfortunately, unless we flood the school with spies, finding them would probably take too long.”

Tsuna finished up his meal and sat back, frustrated.

It was not until the students began the journey back to their dorms that anything of note happened. He had a window open to the Slytherin students, but it was Xeul’s Gryffindor window and Mukuro’s Ravenclaw window that showed the cause of Tsuna’s unease.

The students, one moment laughing and talking happily, had stopped cold to stare at foot-high words painted on the wall between two windows, illuminated by the light of flickering torches.

> #### The Chamber of Secrets Has Been Opened  
>  Enemies of the Heir Beware

A few students slipped in the puddles of water on the stone floor while jostling for space to see the macabre sight of what appeared to be a stone cat hanging by its tail from a torch bracket.

“So, that happened,” he said. “The Dark Wraith is at it again.”

Filch showed up and promptly flipped out.

Dumbledore arrived, along with a number of professors, and the students were firmly shooed away, back to their houses.

“He worked through someone the last time,” Hayato said.

“We have three people to keep an eye on for sure. Ronald, Granger, and Ginevra,” he said. “I’m afraid I didn’t notice anyone missing from the feast from the other houses. Most of them are cardboard cutouts to me as it is.”

“Yeah, I got nothing,” Chikusa said. “I was looking for threats once you started getting twitchy, not people who might be missing.”

“Same.”

“Well, we’ll start with those three. It’ll be a total pain, but… We can switch off. Three on, one goes out and the fourth in, and keep rotating until we either die of boredom or something interesting shows up.”

“There are very few things that can petrify someone,” Ken said. He had a thing for reading up on magical creatures. Not surprising. “I’ll prepare a report, though I’m not sure how much use it will be.”

Weasley, Ronald was still lazy and slacked off, Granger still nagged and prodded, and Weasley, Ginevra spent a lot of her free time writing in a diary and ignoring people. Except for Harry Potter.

Cue blushes, innocently coy looks, and more scribbling in her diary.

And then camera-boy, also known as Colin Creepy—yes, he knew that wasn’t the boy’s name, but it fit.

It all made Tsuna very tired again.

During History of Magic one day, Granger poked and prodded and nagged Binns into answering a few questions about the Chamber of Secrets, but when pressed further, the ghost denied that the chamber or Slytherin’s monster ever existed, and stubbornly went back to teaching about some goblin revolt or other.

Well okay, then.

He had the sinking feeling that Binns had remained teaching for so long because it meant the Ministry didn’t have to pay a salary, and that they did not actually want people learning history because it might point out some gaping flaws in the system.

The same old same old, in a way. He who controls the information has the power.

He sent a side-eye at the old goat, wherever he was.

He had no idea there was a _very_ frustrated house-elf muttering to himself about not being able to get to the Great and Wonderful Harry Potter sir and warn him of the _terrible_ danger at Hogwarts.

November rolled in with a fresh wave of icy temperatures, and with it the news that Colin Creepy had been petrified.

On the flip side, there was good news as well. Mukuro’s reconnaissance had revealed one Weasley, Ginevra, with her diary, as she walked into an unused bathroom and hissed at a sink. What might otherwise be taken as an odd form of frustration was instead a way to open up a secret passage. Mukuro was quick to inform the others and all four of them had windows open to watch as the girl hissed again and stairs formed in the sharply sloped tunnel.

She trotted down in a spiraling pattern to exit at the bottom in a sea of brittle bones, then headed off down a rough passageway, ignoring offshoots, until she came to a set of ornately-decorated doors.

“Someone’s full of himself,” Daemon commented quietly. “It is strangely beautiful, though.”

Tsuna was just happy it was late enough that they were in their dorm room.

Through those doors was worse. It was a massive room, long, and dimly lit.

“I was wrong,” Daemon said, “he is _more_ than full of himself.”

Serpents were carved into columns that stretched up to a ceiling lost to darkness. Tsuna was surprised the snake eyes were hollow rather than set with gems. At the far end was a statue that loomed overhead, as tall as the chamber itself. The face was monkey-ish, old, with a long, thin beard that fell nearly to the statue’s feet.

The girl hissed again, for longer, and the mouth of the statue began to open, wider and wider, until it was great black hole.

“Look down, now,” he ordered. “Listen only.”

Heads dropped immediately.

Tsuna could hear slithering, then a resounding thud. More hissing, two different voices? The girl and the snake. “Don’t look. Store the windows,” he said as he shoved his back into storage.

“Done,” came thrice.

Tsuna exhaled slowly. “Ken, you think it’s a basilisk, do you?”

“…Yes. I do.”

“The water, the camera…”

“Indirect vision…”

“Okay. I need a drink,” he said, and fetched out a bottle of wine and some glasses, then poured. “Fuck my life. The sound of that thing hitting the floor says a lot about its size. We need that diary. Whoever gets their heart rate under control first get a window on the common room. Soon as that girl is asleep, we steal the fucker.”

Ken knocked back a glass of wine like it was water and poured a second one. “Someone … has been killing the gamekeeper’s roosters. Now we know why.”

No matter how experienced he was, how jaded or blasé, some creatures evoked a primal fear in a person. Tsuna was pleased once the fine tremors stopped and his wine stopped jittering around in his glass.

Weasley, Ginevra did not return to the common room until nearly two o’clock. She looked dazed and confused, and a little frightened, her eyes darting around the common room as if expecting someone to leap out at her. She dashed up the girls’ staircase to her dormitory and quickly got changed for bed (Samsara politely averted their eyes), slipped under the covers, and shut her eyes tightly.

Her breathing pattern had settled into a sleep rhythm by three.

Daemon said, “We don’t know if it’s _just_ a diary. I’m going to that spot we used previously to destroy the first two, and I’ll pull it to there.”

Tsuna nodded. “Bring it to the Hogsmeade house first so you can hit it with detection charms, then to that spot. Take Hayato with you, and at least one other.”

Ken raised a hand.

Mukuro nodded. “I’ll take Ken.”

The four of them got up and shifted out. Tsuna opened a window to their destination so those who stayed could watch.

On arrival, Daemon grabbed a glass jar from storage and dumped some bluebell flames in it, handed it to Ken, then pulled the diary to them. Hayato and Xeul sent out a battery of detection charms and grimaced.

“I don’t know for sure what that thing is, but I do know it’s giving me the willies,” Ken said.

Tsuna shook his head. “Don’t open it, just take it to that spot and disintegrate the thing. If we’re wrong, all that’s lost is a young girl’s diary, and we’ll arrange for an anonymous replacement.”

Mukuro took hold of Ken’s arm as Daemon took Hayato’s, and they stepped out, the diary shortly following. Tsuna adjusted his window in time to see Hayato destroy the thing and another screaming face billow out and dissipate.

After lunch (for they had slept in due to the crisis) they went up to their dorm room and took seats. “We need to acquire some living roosters.”

“Uh, yeah,” Ken said. “I don’t want that fucker living under our feet. An enemy at your back is a fool’s game.”

“Hayato, do you think you can disintegrate that statue enough to expose the tunnel behind it?”

The Hayato of old would have immediately declared he could, but this tempered and seasoned Hayato paused to consider things first. “Two things.”

Tsuna nodded.

“One, you need to be aware and paying attention, so if your intuition starts screeching…”

He nodded again. “Agreed.”

“Two, I think it might be better if I did it in sections, or layers. That thing can presumably open the mouth on its own, but given the thickness? It would wipe me out to do it one go. Layers, definitely.”

“Okay. Figure out a game plan for that, and once we have roosters…”

Mukuro raised two fingers and wiggled them. “I’ll check to see how many Hagrid still has left, and failing that, I’ll go elsewhere. I can have roosters ready by this evening at the earliest.”

Hayato bit his lip. “It’s going to take me several days, at the least, so don’t go wild. Just… Source the things, and when we’re good to go on the final push, you can shift them.”

Mukuro nodded. “We’re going to need illusion to get them to crow, so perhaps one rooster per Mist? And Earth Flames to shove at least one of the buggers into that statue.”

“This might sound silly, but… Should we blindfold the things?”

Tsuna blinked at the idea of blindfolding a bunch of roosters, but it did have merit. “Better safe than sorry, I suppose. Yes.”

It took longer than expected to disintegrate enough of the statue’s head that Hayato felt comfortable in saying the next session would be the last. That, when it happened, was a fairly simple deal. Hayato completed his project, disintegrating the last of it, leaving behind a gaping hole.

The four Mists had caged roosters ready, each with a tiny blindfold temporarily stuck in place, and windows open so they could see.

“Anyone hears that slithering sound again, drop your eyes immediately. I know you know that, but I feel better for saying it,” he said, pausing a moment to take a deep breath. “Let’s shift them in and get this done.”

Four roosters were induced to crow their fool heads off in the main chamber, and then two of them, crowing in alarm, were lifted with Earth Flames into the previously hidden tunnel. They could only push them in so far, because Tsuna was not the least bit inclined to send a window in there and risk the basilisk still being alive and able to kill them with a look.

They waited patiently for a half hour of confused crowing before shifting the birds back out, unsticking the blindfolds, and releasing the little guys to Hagrid’s care.

“Back up plan?” Ken asked.

“Quick-dry cement in quantity?” Daemon suggested. “More of that polyurethane adhesive? Something to fill in that tunnel down there? There might still be one to the outside, to the forest, perhaps. We could send in another window to check, so long as we kept our eyes aimed at the floor mostly.”

“It’d mean waiting a bit longer, but we’re due for the holiday soon. We could source that material, and after we get home, take care of it,” Hayato said.

Tsuna looked at his family and saw no dissension, so he nodded. “It’s a plan, then. Has anyone caught people reporting to the old goat about odd happenings and such?”

“To disseminate our own information?” Xeul said. “We’ll keep an eye out or do regular spot checks of his mind.”

“I’m thinking of that shack,” he said. “Sure, we’ve come a long way in terms of spell knowledge and bettering the whole curse breaking thing, but…”

“It makes you uneasy,” Xeul finished. “We’ll see how things go. Worst case, we have one of his informants inform him about something suspicious there, suspicious activity, perhaps, and he can go deal with it. If he fails, maybe Hayato can disintegrate the whole place to get at whatever it is.”

“We don’t have any idea where the Dark Wraith is, so…” He shrugged. “Yeah, it’s a plan, subject to changes as required.”

Early December saw the list for those staying at Hogwarts for the holiday go around, and was summarily ignored. A week after that was an excited buzz. Word of a dueling club was making the rounds and students were speculating as to who would be heading it. Most were betting on Professor Flitwick given how he was a known dueling champion multiple times over.

Samsara, however, knew that Lockhart was behind it all, in another bid to maintain or boost his popularity. They declined to go, though they did open a window so they could observe. The highlight was when Snape took out Lockhart simply and quickly, without any grandiose posturing involved.

A blizzard hit the next day, forcing outside classes of Herbology (for them) and Care of Magical Creatures to be canceled. Three days later they boarded the Express, found their compartment, and stepped out.

The remainder of the year went smoothly, Lockhart got progressively more twitchy, and they had advanced enough in Ancient Runes to start tinkering on one of the mid-grade laptops Reborn had acquired for them. One was taken apart and thoroughly examined so they could get an idea of what changes they could or would need to make.

The first two tries went badly, with the laptops in question going up in flames once powered on. The third, after they revised their changes, did not, but neither did it power on. They set to work revising the changes for the next try.

Spies were sent on occasion to get updates about the occupants of the Iron Fort and CEDEF, but by and large that lot were left to themselves. The brothers three were still too young to maneuver into marriage and babies and so forth.

Reborn was brought in occasionally as a consultant (paid in baked goods or even the same meal they were having) on the laptops, mainly because he had the kind of analytical mind they needed, and he paired well with Hayato in that respect.

Exams came and went, Weasley, Ginevra had refreshed her friendship with a blonde waif who lived near her outside Ottery St Catchpole and seemed to be doing much better, elective choices were decided on and turned in (Arithmancy and Ancient Runes for all of them) and the ride back took all of two seconds once they were in their usual compartment.

Once they had blocked off as much of the passages into the Chamber of Secrets as they could, the rest of the summer holiday was spent on the usual things. A number of defects had tragic accidents, if only to make Little Whinging a safer place for the average civilian, but for the most part they were too busy learning, tinkering, and keeping an eye on Vongola.

Weasley, Arthur had won the annual _Daily Prophet_ Grand Prize Galleon Draw, and instead of spending it on something sensible had taken his family on a trip to Egypt.

Tsuna hadn't realized it was that damn expensive, but what amounted to £5,000 to pay for seven people to go to and stay in Egypt might not be as inflated as he thought. ‘I suppose it depends on what it costs for magical people to stay in a hotel for a month.’

Letters arrived and they did their shopping (student shoppers were all agog over the latest and greatest of brooms, the Firebolt), and the _Daily Prophet_ did a big story about a breakout from Azkaban. One Sirius Black had escaped and they had no idea how. The fact that a black dog which looked suspiciously like the one they’d encountered during their visits to Azkaban was spotted sniffing around Privet Drive was probably just a coincidence.

Daemon tagged the dog with a spy to keep an eye on its movements.

Gossip on the platform was all about the breakout, but they ignored that, claimed their usual compartment, and settled in for yet more rounds of Cluedo and thinking up outrageous reasons for why the culprit did the deed.

They had already crafted some forgeries that would allow all of them to visit Hogsmeade during “certain weekends” and planned to turn them in, using a bit of Mist to ensure compliance.

The ride itself was normal right up to the point where the train slowed unexpectedly, then came to a stop, well before they would arrive at Hogsmeade.

“What the everloving fuck?” he muttered when all the lights went out. The windows began to frost up and the compartment became cold enough that his teeth started to chatter. Memories, bad ones, were starting to flit through his mind. His response was to up the intensity of the Bounding Box’s push against anyone (or anything) bothering them as high as he could get it to go without overstraining himself.

“Hayato,” he whispered. “Be ready to disintegrate if necessary. Chikusa, send out some tranquility. If it’s affecting us in here this badly, the students are probably terrified. Mists, send spies to see what the fuck is going on. I’ve got the box at full strength to protect us in here, hopefully.”

Everyone immediately set about their tasks. Not having been given one, Ken kept an eye on the door and window. “Jesus fuck, what is that thing!?” he said a few moments later, staring out the window. “Something just glided by, like a wraith.”

“Dementors,” Mukuro said, his eyes glazed over and obviously seeing through his spy. “We never really got close enough to them at Azkaban to feel any of this.”

“Searching for Sirius Black, you think?” Daemon asked, his eyes also glazed over. “They appear to be searching car to car, compartment by compartment. What idiot thought this was a good idea? Never mind, it’s obviously that pusbag they call a Minister.”

Xeul reported that a brilliant, translucent white wolf was charging up and down the length of the train, scaring away the dementors. “We need to learn that spell, whatever it us. The Bounding Box works perfectly fine, obviously, but it would make sense to learn this other method.”

He nodded. Eventually the dementors cleared out and order was restored. The train continued its interrupted journey and they were soon enough at the Opening Feast. Pompous was even more pompous than usual due to having been named Head Boy that year, so that was at least good for a laugh.

The latest in a long line of Defense professors was introduced (Lupin, Remus), and the brilliant news that dementors were stationed at the school, “here on Ministry business”, was announced. They were also informed that Kettleburn had retired “in order to enjoy more time with his remaining limbs” and that Hagrid had taken over as professor for Care of Magical Creatures.

They thankfully packed off to bed after the feast (“Coming through, coming through!” Pompous called from behind the crowd of students waiting to get into the tower. “The new password’s ‘Fortuna Major’!”) and went to bed.

Lupin decided on a practical lesson for their first class together and led them all to the staffroom, a long, paneled room full of old, mismatched chairs. Snape was present, seated in a low armchair, his eyes glittering and a sneer twisting his upper lip. He quickly left though, professing to not wish to witness what was sure to be a mistake.

At the end of the room was an old wardrobe, where teachers apparently kept their spare robes … for some reason. As Lupin went to stand next to it, the wardrobe gave a sudden wobble, banging off the wall.

“Nothing to worry about,” said Lupin calmly because a few people had jumped backward in alarm. “There’s a boggart in there.”

Tsuna immediately zoned out, as they had already learned about boggarts during their independent study of the magical world. He was curious to know what his own greatest fear was, but not in any hurry to find out. He had an idea, of course, but thinking about something of that nature seriously was probably a recipe for depression of the sort that produced emo young people who wore all black, had gloomy expressions, and were at risk of suicide or writing bad poetry.

Or possibly wearing berets and snapping their fingers instead of clapping.

He was saved from further contemplation when Lupin got Longbottom to face his fear (Snape) and make it a reason to laugh, and student by student was called up to do the same. A sideways look at his Mists got a nod, and Lupin somehow failed to notice the members of Samsara, and subsequently did not call on any of them.

What struck Tsuna as very odd was Lupin’s insistence on using everyone’s first name, which was just not done. It was far too familiar for a teacher to do so, and he found himself offended by it, partly due to how the British normally handled things, but largely due to his own Japanese roots. A frown twisted his expression and stuck there for the entirety of the class.

Despite Tsuna’s misgivings, Lupin was a popular teacher, and not just amongst the Gryffindors.

The usual check on their fellow Gryffindors showed that Weasley, Ronald and Granger were having frequent tiffs. The girl had obtained a half-kneazel as a pet and the cat liked to chase the boy’s rat around. Weasley was worried that his rat would end up eaten and Granger blew it off with an excuse that cats chased rats and other small creatures. (Theirs were better behaved, obviously.)

Because empathy—clearly useless.

The Patronus Charm—used as defense against dementors and lethifolds—required happy memories as fuel, or love, such as for family or friends. It took Samsara a good month to get it down, and Tsuna was only mildly puzzled when he realized that Reborn (the Ki-san version) gave him the best basis for successfully casting the charm.

He shrugged and moved on.

McGonagall reminded everyone in Transfiguration halfway through October that signed forms for Hogsmeade needed to be turned in to her prior to the first visit, which was scheduled for the thirty-first.

They were already familiar with Hogsmeade, and various members of the staff kept shooting Tsuna concerned looks. They had a quick huddle at the end of class and decided, based on evidence, to not bother. If they wanted to go visit Hogsmeade, they would, as other people rather than students.

That being so, they approached McGonagall. “Professor,” Tsuna said, “we all have permission slips for Hogsmeade, but we’ve decided that with a dangerous criminal on the loose, we’ll just wait to go until he’s been captured. So, we’ll hold on to the forms for now.”

McGonagall looked relieved at his statement and nodded. “A wise decision, Mr Potter. Now run along.”

He nodded back and trundled off, his family forming up around him.

The feast on Halloween was more of the same, a wanton indulgence of too much sugar. How they expected children to fall asleep afterward was a mystery. Of more interest was the huge crowd of Gryffindors piling up at the entrance portrait.

Pompous sailed in, throwing pomposity around, and then called for someone to fetch the headmaster. A moment later the old goat arrived (further evidence that he had spies all over the castle, either in ghosts, portraits, house-elves, or spells) and, after a look at the portrait—slashed so viciously that strips of canvas littered the floor and with great chunks of it torn away completely—they were all ordered straight back to the Great Hall for the night.

Samsara took up a corner on the Gryffindor side of the room, accepted one of the squashy purple sleeping bags being handed out, and set up an anchored Bounding Box to cover them and protect them in sleep.

It was not a comfort that Granger was heard pointing out that the dementors were guarding every single entrance to the castle grounds.

The next morning they went back up to find that a Sir Cadogan was their temporary guardian—the only one brave enough, or more like stupidly brave enough, to take up the duty—but he spent half his time challenging people to duels, with the other half reserved for thinking up ridiculously complicated passwords which he changed at least twice a day.

“More incentive to get all the books you need for the day before leaving,” he muttered, though such idiocy was not a deterrent to Samsara.

The days continued to roll by with nothing much of anything being accomplished with regard to Black being on the loose. Whereas their spies had placed the black dog at Hogwarts, no one seemed to be aware that Black was an animagus, and they did not know if the man was sane or not. None of them were willing to risk their minds on the potentially insane.

“We could just capture the dog and wait until it transforms in order to question the man verbally,” Ken said. “A bit of Mist, some misdirection, and bam, he’s in a cage he can’t break out of.”

Tsuna considered the idea and eventually nodded. “We’ll need to find a place to—actually, we could use Roary’s, yes? Misdirect the dog into thinking _that_ is the tower? Lure him in, and I set up a box to start with. Damaging the Fat Lady could have been anger, but it could also have been frustration, or both. We’ll find out.”

Everyone started plotting the best way to lure the dog to the Room.

Defense saw Snape subbing in for Lupin, who was apparently feeling under the weather, and they were assigned an essay on werewolves, how to recognize one and how to kill them, on two rolls of parchment by Monday.

Granger was not the only one who protested, as the assignment did not follow the progression of creatures Lupin had been familiarizing them with, but Snape cut her down sharply with a comment about being an insufferable know-it-all.

“You would think the girl would have learned something by now,” he commented that evening at Roary’s. “She’s had two years here already, and still thinks that waving knowledge around like a banner is going to function as armor against people who clearly fail to care?”

“She kind of reminds me of a failed Hana,” Hayato said.

“Mm. Sort of. Hana had a steel spine and used knowledge as a weapon. She had a goal and determination, but she also had what Granger appears to lack.”

“The ability to not let those things prevent her from making friends. Let’s face it, Kyoko wasn’t the brightest bulb in the package, but neither was she stupid. Just … oblivious and gullible. Hana was her best friend.”

Hayato snorted. “Maybe if we land in a magical world a few more times I’ll be inclined to care and do something about her. It’s not like you gave much of a fuck until you’d had to deal with my behavior multiple times. I am forever grateful for that, by the way, that you eventually did.”

Tsuna smiled fondly. “So are we set on the plan?” he asked, mostly to change the subject.

“Tomorrow is the quidditch game. If the dog goes for the stadium, we can lead him from there. If he goes for the portrait, same deal.”

“All right. Which spot did you place me at?”

Daemon replied, “With me, up on the seventh floor. That way you’re closer to Roary’s and in a better position to trap the dog.”

“Awesome. Let’s go get some sleep, then.”

The dog went for the tower, which clarified that it was not a student as the target. Daemon and Tsuna deftly redirected it to Roary’s, which had been set up ahead of time and the configuration held in place by Ken, Chikusa, and Hayato.

They already knew that Mukuro and Xeul would be headed their way, if only because they had windows open to each team to keep informed.

The dog transformed into a person in front of the scene they’d concocted and began to terrorize the illusion of a portrait of Sir Cadogan. Ken just so happened to exit the room at exactly the right time and Black took advantage, unheeding of the cry of surprise and fright from the boy.

He dashed straight into the “common room” and was stopped dead when a Bounding Box sprang up around him. Several frantic minutes were spent by him trying to escape the near-invisible boundaries and more than a few spells went out.

The wand is probably an acquired one, Tsuna commented in flame-writing. It doesn’t seem to work that well for him.

It was only when Black sank down to the floor in misery that they acted, and it was to use Earth Flames to take the wand. Mukuro used his eye to conjure up a horde of snakes to tie the man up, so to speak, and only then did Ken reappear, his nose wrinkled.

“He desperately needs a bath.”

Black looked up sharply. “Who the hell are you?”

Ken smirked. “One of your captors, Black. We’re going to have a talk, mainly about what it really is you’re after here at Hogwarts. It’s not a student, clearly.”

Black went off on a rant.

Tsuna gleaned from that several important things as he restlessly moved around at the edge of _Between_. Black had been imprisoned for several crimes, none of which he was guilty of. Weasley, Ronald’s pet rat, Scabbers, was in fact Pettigrew, Peter, an animagus, and the real culprit. Black wanted to kill the fucker in revenge.

His intuition wasn’t sending out any alarms, so he stepped into view. “Mr Black.”

Black’s head snapped around toward the new voice, then gawked. “Harry…”

The others faded into view out of line of sight.

“The Weasley boy’s rat has not been seen in some time,” he said. “It may already have run, especially after the spectacle about you in the paper and around the school. You were clearly not sorted into Slytherin, or you’d have gone about things more stealthily and sensibly. I suppose not having any clear allies would be an issue.”

Black’s mouth continued to hang open in confusion.

Tsuna looked at Xeul and arched a brow.

Xeul nodded back and disappeared, off to go search Gryffindor for the rat. Had they known the damn thing would be of issue they’d have tagged it as they had the dog.

“Are your memories even whole enough after your luxury stay at Azkaban to provide proof of your innocence, Black? Or is your entire case predicated on finding the rat and presenting him to the DMLE for interrogation? Assuming you didn’t kill him in a fit of rage first, that is.”

More gawking ensued.

Tsuna heaved a sigh. “Mr Black, we cannot help you in any way if you sit there like a lump of suet. If we cannot locate the rat here at the school, we will instead need to find you a place of safety so that you can recover and live some sort of decent life, even if it’s under an assumed identity.”

Daemon waggled a vial of some clear substance at him from behind Black’s back and flamed up the word “veritaserum” as well.

Tsuna’s gaze shifted back to Black. “Are you willing to take veritaserum to back up your claims, Mr Black?”

Black’s mouth snapped shut for a moment. “Sirius. Call me Sirius.”

He nodded.

“And yes, I am.”

“Awesome. If you would open your mouth, please, we shall get started.”

Daemon, Mukuro, and Hayato did the questioning, and they were brutally thorough. Some questions were answered a bit weirdly, but that had more to do with the shred job the dementors had done on the man’s memories than an attempt at prevarication.

It came out that, for some insane reason, Black still looked up to Dumbledore, so they took the time to cut that to shreds with ruthless logic and get the man to see sense. In the event that the man backslid, they also got an oath enforced by magic out of him.

Most importantly, that Black would be unable to reveal anything about Harry Potter, or the members of Samsara, to anyone, by any means, without explicit permission from Tsuna, upon immediate loss of life. The only permission he had was with regard to the events prior to 1982, when there wouldn’t be much _to_ tell about Harry Potter other than how adorable he might have been as a baby or toddler.

Black was still too befuddled to take notice of the fact that all restrictions were upon him, and none on “Harry Potter”.

He was then packed off to the Hogsmeade house and shoved at a shower to wash off the stench.

Tsuna adjusted the Bounding Box for the house, to prevent Black from leaving if he got any stupid ideas that would quickly see him dead.

Black came back an hour later, scrubbed clean, dressed in new clothing (Daemon had stepped out and purchased some after having augmented his body to an approximation of Black’s), and was shown to a seat at the kitchen table and given a bowl of broth (Mukuro had slipped out long enough to do some food shopping) to start with.

“We can’t stay for much longer,” he said. “The game looks to be winding down from what we can see and we’ll be expected at lunch. The place is stocked with quite a lot of broth, various breads, and other fairly light foods so you can get used to eating properly again before you try more filling meals.

“If you need something, make a list. We will be visiting regularly to make sure you have what you need and that you have company. No point in you going batshit insane by being alone too much. You are not to leave the house. We will scour the school and find the rat if it’s still there.”

“It has a toe cut off,” Black said. “Front paw, because it was a finger.”

Tsuna nodded. “There are also few people at the school who even have rats, since it’s not on the list you initially get. Far too many of them don’t see the loophole that only first years are given that restriction, and anyone good with words can talk their way into something other than a cat, an owl, or a toad.”

A faint grin hovered around Black’s mouth at that.

“The only logical reason the rat was cleared was because the old goat wanted to be nice to the Weasley family because of their financial situation, and for Ronald, because it counted as a legacy pet. So, stay here, recover. We will see about getting you a new wand, and a disguise. Now, we need to get going so we can blend back in, so we’ll see you later, talk more.”

Black nodded, then brightened. “Check in Filch’s office. We made a map of Hogwarts, the Marauders Map. The password to use it is, ‘I solemnly swear I am up to no good,’ and the one to clear it is, ‘Mischief managed’. It would be very useful if he’s got it in there somewhere.”

“We will scour the school for that as well. It could be considered part of my legacy, after all.”

Black nodded vigorously, dunking his scraggly beard in his broth several times over. “Me, your father, Remus, and … him. We created it. If anyone should have it, it’s you.”

“All right. See you later. Stay safe, recover, don’t leave.”

Samsara left the kitchen and stepped out, back to their dorm room. Flame writing showed up a few moments later: Heard all of it. So far no sign of the rat. Taking a break to go look through Filch’s office.

Everything was thrown for a loop when dementors swarmed the pitch in a frenzy of attempted soul-sucking. The staff members who could cast the Patronus Charm as protection did, and those who could not were charged with getting the students inside the castle.

The result? Were the dementors pulled from the school? Fuck no!

It was an all-time record number of students who chose to go home for the winter holiday. Those who had bad home situations went to a friend’s house just to get away.

Samsara divided their time between № 6 and the house in Hogsmeade, working to ensure Black’s recovery. If Black occasionally called Tsuna “James” it went unremarked in his presence.

“You realize he may fall apart once you die in a tragic accident,” Chikusa said mildly.

“Yeah. But it’s already clear his memories are scrambled and he’s living in the past to some degree, holding on to what he can. Perhaps Lupin can help shore him up, though it won’t do much good if his innocence can’t be proven.”

“And if he proves to be resistant to logic and rational thinking?”

“Then we do a number on his memories, set him up with an embedded anchored disguise, and find him a place to live out the rest of his life in relative safety. If he believes that Harry Potter died that night and his so-called allies did nothing to prevent his incarceration, it wouldn’t be outside reason that he washed his hands of the lot and the country and moved to a tropical island to live out his life in anonymity.”

“You’re going to die eventually,” Daemon said softly. “The disguise will fail.”

“True. But by then, we can hope he’s got enough sense to disguise himself. We can always try to come up with a way to magically create the disguise, like an enchanted item. We have made huge strides in runes, after all. We can work on that, too.”

Black, when notified that the rat could not be found anywhere (and Ken had an excellent nose), blew up in anger and paced around raving. Tsuna only allowed it for so long before he arched a brow and Chikusa took that as a signal to tranquilize the man into seeming serenity.

“This is the kind of behavior that saw you incarcerated for crimes you did not commit,” Tsuna said mildly.

Black evidently took that as the worst sort of censure and looked down in shame.

“We will continue to keep an eye out. Sadly, we have not located the map. Do you remember how to construct one? Or would Lupin know?”

Black looked conflicted. “I don’t. Remus might, but he believes I’m guilty.”

“He seems mild enough for a werewolf.”

Black’s expression turned to one of panic. “But…”

“It is not that hard to recognize one suffering that curse if one is observant and puts the clues together,” he said. It was also the reason they had not poked around in his head. They were worried the curse might in some way harm one of them. “Interestingly enough, for being a good friend of James Potter, Lupin has failed to do anything more than teach. He’s overly familiar with the students for some reason, but he has not attempted to speak to me about … my parents.”

“He’s probably … afraid,” Black said. “He’s always been afraid. He’s always been worried that people would reject him if they knew, be frightened of him, get everyone to turn against him.”

“Is that why you learned to be an animagus?”

Black nodded. “So we could be with him on the full moon. So he’d have a pack. Werewolves won’t harm non-humans, so as animals we were safe, and us being there meant he wasn’t howling and hurting himself. The wolf could have … fun, I guess.”

Tsuna nodded. “A project for you, then, if you’re interested? Write down everything you can remember about becoming an animagus. We might like to try at some point, and your help could be invaluable.”

Black brightened up considerably and nodded. “Absolutely. I’ll need plenty of parchment, ink…”

“You’ll have it.”

“I question his ability to function properly.”

Tsuna looked at Xeul and nodded. “We’ll see. Don’t get me wrong. I’ve done more than a few stupid things in my lives, but he went straight off the deep end. Let’s just work on an enchanted disguise for him and, failing that, I’ll use more the usual. He will be responsible for his own safety in the end, because we’re not sticking around the magical world to be brainwashed into idiocy. I did not spend so much time learning how to cultivate my talents to throw it all away for a backward and regressive society.”

“Well, Filch doesn’t have the map, so either someone found and took it, or Filch destroyed the thing.”

Tsuna shrugged. “It might be very useful, but it’s not necessary. If we notice someone using what might be it, we investigate. Otherwise, I’m not too worried about it. Let’s just keep an eye out for various things and go on as we have. No sense getting fussed.”

The remainder of the year went well enough. Lupin continued to be overly familiar with the students, but did not, at any time, make it known to Harry Potter that he had been one of his father’s best friends.

Exams began the second week of June and they breezed through them as usual. It was Thursday afternoon, as Samsara was walking to Roary’s, that they came upon the professor for Divination, Trelawney.

“It will happen tonight.”

Tsuna stared at her. Her voice had gone harsh, her form was rigid, and her eyes were unfocused. He almost expected her to start drooling any second. “Eh?”

Her eyes rolled back in her head. “The Dark Lord lies alone and friendless, abandoned by his followers. His servant has been chained these twelve years. Tonight, before midnight … the servant will break free and set out to rejoin his master. The Dark Lord will rise again with his servant’s aid, greater and more terrible than ever he was. Tonight … before midnight … the servant … will set out … to rejoin … his master…”

Tsuna’s brow went up, then he booked it for Roary’s, not wanting to be anywhere near the aging hippie when she snapped out of whatever trance she was in.

“So, that happened,” he said as he slumped into a squashy orange armchair.

“Clearly the rat has been hanging around, just not anywhere we could notice him,” Hayato said, looking annoyed.

Tsuna flapped a hand. “Not going to worry about it. He’s been missing for ages now, and what she said just lends credence to the idea that he’ll gain a physical form we can kill. Just need to finish off the last of any Horcruxes. Speaking of which…”

His Mists nodded. “We’ll nudge the old goat toward the shack, see what happens. Nudge strongly.”

Tsuna flapped a hand again. “Make it so.”

They were watching when the old goat went off to investigate the Gaunt shack. It was a nasty place, surrounded by far too many nettles and trees that blocked the light. It rather looked as if a strong wind would blow the whole thing over were it not protected by those same trees and by vines that crawled up the walls and braced the structure.

Dumbledore took hours to get inside. Riddle had left behind many protections, and the old goat took his time breaking through each and every one of them. Inside was filth. Rusted pots and echoes of long-since-spoiled food littered the place, along with a thick fur of dust and greasy grime.

It was under some floorboards that Dumbledore found a golden box. He was smart enough to check for traps, and to disable them, but once he had opened the box, he lost all sense, apparently. One look at the ring within saw his expression turn to one of desperate yearning.

He reached out and took the ring, and wore it.

His hand started to blacken and wither. Dumbledore cursed and called for his phoenix; in a flash they were gone.

Windows were immediately opened to his office, the infirmary, and Snape’s workroom, but it was to the headmaster’s office that Dumbledore went. He snatched off the ring and shoved it into an empty drawer, then grabbed parchment, quill, and ink and wrote out a short note.

The phoenix flashed off with it a moment later.

Snape arrived in due time and swore when he saw the headmaster’s hand, then set to work. “I am afraid all I can do is delay the inevitable, headmaster. There is no cure for this.”

“I am aware, Severus. Do what you can. I _must_ live for at least the next year.”

Snape scoffed. “That damnable tournament. You know it will only bring more trouble to the school!”

“It’s not entirely in my hands, my boy. The Ministry is insistent on it, so will it be. There are dark times ahead, and I must survive for as long as possible. And once I am gone … you know what must inevitably happen.”

Snape sneered as he continued his work. “Yes,” he said shortly.

“The boy clearly has friends he is close with. Surely he would give his life for them when the time comes.”

Tsuna rolled his eyes.

“He has more self-worth than I would have expected,” Snape said roughly. “Won’t that cause problems with your plan?”

“I imagine that once he realizes he must die for the sake of their safety he will do so gladly, knowing his death was for a greater purpose. Let him enjoy life for now. It will soon enough come to a sad but necessary end.”

Snape sneered again. “As soon as we’re done here I will begin making the necessary potions that will see you through. And you will give no excuses for putting any of them off.”

“Fear not, Severus. I will do as I must, for as long as I am able. After I am gone, it will be up to you to let the boy know his role at the appropriate time.”

Several minutes later Snape departed to go start on his potions and Dumbledore opened the drawer again to gaze at the ring. “Ariana,” he said wistfully. “I simply wanted to see you again.”

“Ariana?” Tsuna said. “A family member, one presumes.”

“I’ll check,” Daemon said.

“And he’s clearly planning your death, Heul,” Hayato said. “It seems we’ll have to take care of the headmaster’s pet after all.”

“After the old goat is dead,” Mukuro said. “But we should check to see if there’s an additional fallback plan.”

“And this tournament he mentioned?” Ken asked.

“The only widely known tournament I recall is the Triwizard Tournament, but that was ended centuries ago because the death toll was so damn high.”

Dumbledore closed the drawer again and pondered. “Perhaps Fiendfyre will do to destroy this vile thing.”

“I assume he’s talking about a Horcrux.”

“I would suggest we—well, we can, actually. If you’re going to poke around in his head again, there’s no reason we can’t make him believe he still has the real thing. We pull it to the usual place, disintegrate it, and leave a fake in its place.”

“So long as the old goat actually believes his fake one is real, I don’t object,” Tsuna said. “Should we ask Talbot to craft one? Or just bash something together in modeling clay and call it good?”

The others looked pensive. “I’d rather not bother him over this,” Hayato said, “not if we can get by with what we have. Besides, Heul, you did all that experimentation with free-forging metals. Why not do that? We can get a few photographs of the thing without touching it, you make one…”

“Good point. I saw enough to believe I can successfully make a fake. I just need to get some metal out of storage. Well, and a high enough heat source to do the melting. We could try sneaking into Roary’s, as the room would provide, presumably.”

“Right,” Daemon said briskly. “Tonight, when the old man is asleep, we can ensure he stays asleep while we’re getting pictures.”

“And keep those portraits unaware,” Xeul said.

“Once we have a fake ready, we can do the swap, and also ensure he goes and does his Fiendfyre thing to destroy it. No evidence is no evidence. He goes away thinking he’s done good, and thinking that his pet Death Eater will see to the death of Harry Potter through a series of manipulations and guilt trips, one assumes.”

Tsuna nodded. “Okay, plan set. Once we have the pictures we’ll move forward. Just ensure he does not attempt to destroy the thing until we’re ready. He knows he has a year maybe, so while he might want it done soon, he can afford to take a bit of time to deal with other matters—like that tournament.”

His Mists nodded.

“Odds that some Death Eater sort we missed is going to drag Harry Potter into the tournament?” Chikusa asked.

“And what are the odds it’ll happen on Halloween?” Ken added.

Tsuna sighed. “Probably. But let’s worry about that when we get there. I am too old to get fussed about a potentially deadly tournament. This lot doesn’t seem capable of seeing our flames, and it’s extremely hard for even us to see Earth Flames, so I have more than a few tricks up my sleeve if it happens.”

Barriers were placed to keep people away—though there were very few people in the school during the summer months—and Tsuna was able to get Roary’s to provide him with a forge so he could melt down some gold (galleons, in that instance) and use his flames to shape the molten metal into a decent approximation of the original.

It helped that the ring looked to have been made by an amateur craftsman in the first place. The stone was a bit harder, but his family took care of that by crafting one from some resin, taking care to etch in the symbol found in the stone of the Gaunt ring.

Once assembled they moved to the usual spot after the old man went to sleep, used Mist Flames to block the portraits, Earth Flames to open the drawer, and effected the swap. Hayato disintegrated the real ring and was quite surprised when the stone itself refused to fall apart and just sat there stubbornly.

Tsuna hummed thoughtfully, produced a heavy silk bag, and turned it inside out so he could use it to scoop the stone up, and bagged it up. Once tied off, the whole thing was labeled and chucked into storage.

Once they were back at № 6 his Mists went to tinker with the old goat’s mind again and drop a few compulsions on him.

Two days later Dumbledore took the ring away, his expression both grave and wistful, and returned with nothing. “I shall have to wait, it seems,” the man said, “to see you, Ariana, due to the stone being destroyed. Not too much longer, though sooner than I expected. Ah well.”

“Why was he so interested in the damn stone?” he wondered.

“I’ll keep an eye out for that symbol,” Hayato said. “Or we sketch up a copy and a Mist goes out in disguise and asks questions, then erases the whole interview. Given the way the old goat was talking, though, it sounds like the stone has some way of speaking to the dead.”

Tsuna shuddered. “Now there’s something I’ve next to no interest in.”

“Next up,” Mukuro said. “I checked in on the brothers three. Enrico is sixteen and he’s been wooing the ladies, though not with a mind to settle down, but more to play the field. I’ve done up a list of likely candidates for when the time comes, but I guess we’ll see who’s even still alive by then, or not already in a contract with someone.”

“Thoughts on Black?”

“Unless we can find the rat, there’s not much we can do. Our only real option aside from keeping him trapped in that house is to send him off far away, where he can roam around and not feel like he’s still in prison. The house is nice, but to never be able to leave?”

“So we find out if the Black family has a place like that and send him off? Compulsions? Because the closer he is to the problem, the more likely he is to try to leave and get himself killed.”

Tsuna waited a bit, then nodded. “Let’s go talk to him, then.” Before they left he did some baking, just so he had a diversion handy.

Black was pacing around the house restlessly, clearly unhappy at being confined. “You’re back!” he cried, a smile lighting his face.

“We did say we’d keep visiting,” Tsuna said dryly. “We were curious. Is there some retreat you could go to, away from all this? Because until we can find Peter…”

Black scowled and slammed his fist against the wall. He cradled it a moment later and took a deep breath. “Yeah, the Blacks have an island in the tropics, heavily warded. Barely anyone knows about it, and since I’m technically the head of the family with Reggie dead… That reminds me, I should update my will. I don’t even remember what was in the one I made during the war.”

“Will it be safe for you to go into Gringotts?”

“Oh, sure. The goblins don’t care about wizard issues. So long as nobody recognized me on the way in or until I saw my account manager it wouldn’t matter.”

“So a hooded cloak.”

“Right.”

“In a nice lilac, maybe,” he said, “or some other colour that people would remember more than the face underneath it.”

“I could go for tie-dye,” Black admitted. “That’s always good for a laugh.”

“All right. How about you take some time to figure out a new will, and when you’re ready we’ll help get you to Gringotts. And after that, we can go shopping in the muggle world so you’ve got some additional clothes, and then you can go take a holiday. So long as we can still exchange letters it’ll be fine. If we find the rat we can capture it, and see about getting you cleared. Then you wouldn’t have to hide. Staying here though… The house is nice, but I imagine it’d be too much like a prison.”

“Already is,” Black muttered. “Yeah. I’ll work on a will. By the next time you come I’ll be ready. When will that be again?”

“Next week?” he said. “Gives you plenty of time. Oh, right, we brought along some stuff I baked earlier. We all find magical food to be a bit lacking in taste. At least, the stuff the house-elves make.” He produced the boxes of goods, seemingly from a pouch, but really from storage and trundled off into the kitchen.

Black was there in a flash, eagerly opening each of them and beaming at the contents. Muffins and cupcakes and other treats awaited him and the man seemed plenty willing to indulge himself.

A week later they helped Black get to Gringotts (liberal amounts of Mist Flames were used) and waited in an anteroom as he met with his account manager, passing the time by playing Skip-Bo. As soon as Black rejoined them they packed up the cards and hastened the man out into London to get him a halfway decent wardrobe.

“How would you even get to the island?” he asked.

“Oh, uh, the family has portkeys for that. I got the ring while I was at the bank, and that’ll do it for me. I can also get a new wand that end, without much trouble. They don’t much care for the British.”

“Good. We didn’t find the map, but we’ll keep an eye out. Do you want to go back to the house first or…?”

Black shook his head. “I was going stir crazy in there. On the island I’ll have plenty of space to move around in. I’ll send a letter when I arrive so you know I got there safe.”

Tsuna nodded and smiled, though there was little feeling in it.

A few moments later Black did something to his ring and he was gone.

Tsuna knew damn well his Mists had greased the wheels on that departure and could not find it in himself to object. Black saw him as James half the time, and he barely knew the man, so it was hard to care at all beyond the obvious miscarriage of justice.

With that out of the way they could enjoy the remainder of their summer holiday.


	5. λ15: 05: 1994-1995

## λ15  
05: 1994-1995

“Time to do some research on previous Triwizard Tournaments,” he announced.

Daemon stepped out a second later, probably to go track down books.

By the time they had gone through the books Daemon came back with they had a fairly good idea of the sorts of tasks that might come up. That the event was to be held at Hogwarts limited certain options, but it was likely a large and dangerous creature was one of the tasks. Likewise, a hostage situation of sorts was likely to be another. And finally, a maze of some kind, which meant any number of obstacles to be overcome before completing that task.

Assuming someone managed to get Harry Potter’s name in the cup, Tsuna would likely blow through any and all tasks.

What upset them all was the idea that the Goblet of Fire would create a binding magical contract between the students who had their names picked and the goblet itself. Allegedly, each student who wanted to participate would enter a piece of parchment with their name and school on it.

How the Goblet would be presented was one question.

How the other schools involved—Beauxbatons and Durmstrang—would be arriving, housed, and how many was another.

The fact that he never signed his body’s name to anything presented another quandary. The documentation could not be accurate if someone got him involved regardless.

There was nothing to do but wait, essentially.

Granger provided them with another display of temper when she learned that Hogwarts had over a hundred house-elves in service, and capped that off with evidence that she had no desire to do any research, but preferred to jump to conclusions. No wonder she didn’t get sorted into Ravenclaw.

Tsuna zoned out during Dumbledore’s explanation of the Triwizard Tournament, but not the part where he mentioned that only those age seventeen and older would be allowed to enter their names, nor when he mentioned that the short-listed candidates for the other two schools would be arriving in October.

Their latest Defense professor was Mad-Eye Moody, and he looked as if he’d been put through a wood chipper at some point. His first class with them was not very well liked in the end. Poor Neville looked as if someone had just tortured him personally, and Moody kept giving Tsuna the strangest looks.

Their next class with him was even worse. Moody claimed Dumbledore wanted them all to have experience with the Imperius Curse, and as such, he would be using it on every last one of them. And, as curious as Tsuna was as to whether or not he could resist—he was certain he could—he was not about to let a complete stranger use it on him.

They did the same thing they had done to Lupin and made Moody forget they were even there.

A week prior to Halloween a notice was put up in the entrance hall for all to see.

> #### Triwizard Tournament
> 
> #### The delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving at 6 o’clock on Friday the 30th of October. Lessons will end half an hour early.
> 
> Students will return their bags and books to their dormitories and assemble in front of the castle to greet our guests before the Welcoming Feast.

During that week the castle was given an extra thorough cleaning to make everything sparkle, and new banners were hung in the Great Hall by the morning of the thirtieth. That evening, after dropping their things off in their dorm, Samsara migrated to the entrance hall and out the doors to wait with the rest of the student body.

They ignored McGonagall’s attempts to regulate where the various students were standing (shortest at the front) and took up position against the castle wall.

“Aha! Unless I am very much mistaken, the delegation from Beauxbatons approaches!” called out Dumbledore from his position at the back with the rest of the staff.

The distant object approaching from over the forest eventually resolved to be a gigantic, powder-blue carriage being drawn by a dozen winged horses. It landed with a crash, scaring a number of younger students, and once settled a boy in silk robes the same colour as the carriage stepped out, lowered a set of steps, and held up an arm.

The woman who emerged was clearly like Hagrid.

Tsuna zoned out again and did not bother to pay attention until Durmstrang arrived. Their ship surfaced on the lake as if exiting a whirlpool, then dropped anchor and lowered a gangplank so the occupants could disembark.

‘Oh look,’ he thought. ‘One of the Death Eaters we didn’t bother to go after.’

The Durmstrang contingent dressed in cloaks of shaggy, matted fur. Weasley, Ronald practically burst from excitement when the Bulgarian National Team seeker (Krum, Viktor) was recognized as one of the students.

Once all the guests had entered the castle, the Hogwarts students were finally allowed to go back inside and to the Great Hall. Durmstrang had decided to sit at the Slytherin table, while Beauxbatons had chosen Ravenclaw.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, ghosts and—most particularly—guests,” said Dumbledore, beaming around at the foreign students. “I have great pleasure in welcoming you all to Hogwarts. I hope and trust that your stay here will be both comfortable and enjoyable.”

One of the Beauxbatons girls clutching a muffler around her head gave what was unmistakably a derisive laugh.

“The tournament will be officially opened at the end of the feast,” said Dumbledore. “I now invite you all to eat, drink, and make yourselves at home!”

Muffler-Girl came over to Gryffindor (why them and not Hufflepuff he had no idea) and asked if they were done with a tureen of bouillabaisse. Weasley, Ronald went pink and liable to drool over the whole thing, then claimed, once she had retreated with her prize, that the girl was a veela.

Granger took offense to Weasley’s poor behavior, which was no surprise to anyone.

Tsuna ignored all the fuss and ate, only tuning back in to hear that Bagman, Crouch, Dumbledore, Maxime, and Karkaroff would comprise the panel of judges for the tournament.

Filch was bidden to bring out a casket which contained the Goblet of Fire.

“As you know, three champions compete in the tournament,” Dumbledore went on calmly, “one from each of the participating schools. They will be marked on how well they perform each of the tournament tasks and the champion with the highest total after task three will win the Triwizard Cup. The champions will be chosen by an impartial selector: the Goblet of Fire.”

Dumbledore then took out his wand and tapped three times upon the top of the casket. The lid creaked slowly open. Dumbledore reached inside it and pulled out a large, roughly-hewn wooden cup. It would have been entirely unremarkable had it not been full to the brim with dancing blue-white flames.

Dumbledore closed the casket and placed the goblet carefully on top of it, where it would be clearly visible to everyone in the Hall.

“Anybody wishing to submit themselves as champion must write their name and school clearly upon a slip of parchment and drop it into the goblet,” said Dumbledore. “Aspiring champions have twenty-four hours in which to put their names forward. Tomorrow night, Halloween, the goblet will return the names of the three it has judged most worthy to represent their schools. The goblet will be placed in the entrance hall tonight, where it will be freely accessible to all those wishing to compete.

“To ensure that no underage student yields to temptation, I will be drawing an Age Line around the Goblet of Fire once it has been placed in the entrance hall. Nobody under the age of seventeen will be able to cross this line. Finally, I wish to impress upon any of you wishing to compete that this tournament is not to be entered into lightly.

“Once a champion has been selected by the Goblet of Fire, he or she is obliged to see the tournament through to the end. The placing of your name in the goblet constitutes a binding, magical contract. There can be no change of heart once you have become a champion. Please be very sure, therefore, that you are wholeheartedly prepared to play before you drop your name into the goblet. Now, I think it is time for bed. Good night to you all.”

Back in the dorm Tsuna heaved a sigh. “An age line. Seriously?”

“You would think the quidditch chasers would already have one possible way to get their names in if they’re underage,” Ken commented.

“And it’s Halloween tomorrow,” Hayato said. “Something bad always happens on Halloween where Harry Potter is involved. Do we set spies, or just let the cards fall where they may?”

“If we don’t do something,” Tsuna said, “my intuition says I will somehow be entered. I’m trying to decide if I want to prevent it.”

“I can’t imagine competing would be difficult for you, darling,” Daemon said. “You’d probably make them all look like fools.”

He felt a twinge just then and grimaced. “I think that choice just got taken away. I did not expect whoever is gunning for me to act so quickly. Fuck.”

“So now the question is how the rest of the school will react,” Mukuro said, “and how many people I have to give nightmares to if they dare talk shit to Heul.”

“Well, I’ll be keeping up my localized Bounding Box, that’s for certain,” he said. “So, the question is who. The only local newcomer is Moody, and he seems more than a bit cracked. I doubt the students from the other two schools would bother, but Karkaroff is a possibility. Unless Maxime has something against Potter, though, I can’t imagine why she’d bother, and she’d be a mite suspicious creeping around the entrance hall when she’s that big.”

His Mists shrugged. “We’ll each take one and check. Might want to check the old goat again, too. This might be his way of killing you off before he dies.”

“Eh, maybe. Yeah, let’s check the four of them. We might be able to get most of it done at breakfast.”

Xeul scoffed. “I’ll check the old goat tonight.”

“We can at least try to find the others this evening,” Mukuro said. “You, however…”

His brow went up.

“…You are going to go bake something real quick, to settle any nerves.”

“Oh. Yeah. I’ll do that.” He stepped out a second later and started a batch of blueberry muffins.

“It wasn’t the old goat,” Xeul reported. “He wouldn’t be unhappy if your name came out, but he had nothing to do with it.”

“I snuck a spy into the Durmstrang ship and found Karkaroff,” Mukuro said. “Once I was sure he was alone I used that visual to step in so I could poke around. It wasn’t him.”

“Same for Maxime,” Daemon said.

“I guess it’s Moody at breakfast, then,” he said as they prepared to head down.

“It was him,” Daemon said while they ate, not bothering to lower his voice. Whispering in situations like that could be detrimental, and besides, the localized Bounding Box was keeping attention away from them.

Tsuna frowned and slathered butter on his toast, then piled an egg on top and bit into it.

“I’ll get more out of him,” Daemon promised.

It was a Saturday, which gave them more options. “Keep a window open?”

“Already am,” was the ready reply.

They trundled off after breakfast to Roary’s and settled in with various books while Daemon kept an eye on Moody. He stepped out without warning at one point and returned an hour later, at which point Tsuna set his book down and gave his Mist his full attention.

“Moody is actually Barty Crouch Jr, Death Eater, using Polyjuice Potion. The real Moody is locked in a multi-compartment trunk, being kept alive for the purpose of supplying genetic material for the potion. The story goes as such:

“Pettigrew somehow stumbled over his master and, like a good little spineless minion, promptly agreed to do whatever was asked of him. He and the Dark Lord are at the Riddle manor house in Little Hangleton at present, with the Dark Wraith having become the Dark Homunculus, in baby form. The Dark Lord learned of the tournament being held when a Ministry worker, one Bertha Jorkins, spotted and recognized Pettigrew while she was on holiday.

“Pettigrew stunned her and dragged her back to his master. Her death was used to make the Dark Lord’s snake, Nagini, into a Horcrux, but only after they tortured that information out of her, as well as the information that she had stumbled over Barty Jr being held prisoner at Sr’s home, under the Imperius Curse.

“Sr obliviated her, but the Dark Lord broke through all that, which is why he knew he had another minion he could use, and rescued him. Barty was then bidden to capture Moody and take his place for the year so that he could mastermind you getting forced into the tournament—a strong Confundus Charm on the goblet, apparently—and ensuring that you would live through the tasks and be the first one to the cup during the third.”

“Because…?”

“To kidnap you, of course,” Daemon said sunnily. “You will be portkeyed to the graveyard down the hill from Riddle House so you’ll be available to donate blood as one of the ingredients needed for the ritual to provide the Dark Baby with a proper body. And then, you know, be murdered.”

“I see,” he said mildly.

“On the bright side,” Mukuro said, “that means we know of what should be the final Horcrux. But we can always make sure of it once we get there. He had five known ones, the snake makes six, so it’s highly probable there aren’t any others.”

He nodded agreeably. “That would be logical. I’m going to go out on a limb here and assume all of you will be right there in the graveyard, waiting, so we can take of things without too much fuss.”

“Of course!” Hayato said. “Not sure offhand how we’re going to deal with Pettigrew, though. We’re only fourth years. No one is going to believe—well, no one will know we were there. I guess we could just knock the guy unconscious after he’s done his bit. Kill the snake, and then the Dark Lord.”

“Assuming he has the snake right there with him,” Ken said. “It might be up at the house.”

“We’ll know that ahead of time,” Chikusa said, “because at least one of you will have a window open. All else failing, someone steps Hayato over to the usual spot, pulls the snake through, and kills it there before rejoining the rest of us at the graveyard.”

Tsuna nodded. “Someone has to deal with Crouch Jr., preferably when he’s not still disguised. If he dies looking like Moody, the real one might never get free. Depends on what protections are on the trunk. Maybe something as simple as being compelled to forget to drink more? He outs himself in front of everyone and is taken out, by stunner or something more nasty.”

Nods went around.

“And we keep an eye on Crouch Jr’s thoughts, so we’re not caught out by surprise if there’s a change in plans,” he added.

More nods.

He heaved a sigh. “Right. Well, it’s not like I haven’t already been subject in multiple lives to being the village idiot and whipping boy…”

At dinner it was all very tense. It did not stop people from stuffing themselves silly in the second feast in as many days. Once all the tables were cleared, the noise level in the hall multiplied by at least a factor of two.

Daemon leaned over and whispered into his ear, “I will be making sure you look surprised as hell and a tad frightened as well, so just roll with it to start with.”

He nodded. He was feeling a bit uncharacteristically nervous for once, so he zoned out again, knowing that his best friend and brother would nudge him at the right time.

“—Potter!”

Tsuna blinked a few times when Daemon literally nudged him and pointed toward the head table. “…What?”

“Harry Potter. Up here, if you please!” Dumbledore called out.

“I didn’t put my name in. You know I didn’t,” he said faintly, though with enough projection for it to carry.

“Time to go,” Daemon said quietly and gave him another nudge.

Tsuna slowly got up and trudged up to the head table, a look of confusion on his face.

“Well … through the door, Mr Potter,” Dumbledore said. He wasn’t smiling.

Tsuna blinked and headed to the door and through it. The antechamber had a multitude of portraits on the walls and a fire was roaring in the fireplace opposite.

Viktor Krum, Cedric Diggory, and Fleur Delacour were grouped around the fire. They looked strangely impressive, silhouetted against the flames. Krum, hunched-up and brooding, was leaning against the mantelpiece, slightly apart from the other two. Cedric was standing with his hands behind his back, staring into the fire. Delacour looked around when Harry walked in and threw back her sheet of long, silvery hair.

“What is it?” she said. “Do zey want us back in ze Hall?”

She thought he had come to deliver a message.

Tsuna shook his head and put his back to the wall, refusing to speak.

Bagman came in and informed the others that Harry Potter was the fourth champion. Krum’s face darkened, Diggory looked nonplussed, and Delacour took it for a joke.

Tsuna zoned out during the ensuing chatter, only paying attention again when Dumbledore got in his face and asked calmly, “Did you put your name into the Goblet of Fire, Mr Potter?”

“No,” he said, ignoring when Snape made a soft noise of disbelief.

“Did you ask an older student to put it into the Goblet of Fire for you?”

“No,” he repeated.

It was interesting he thought, as he listened to all the accusations and arguments that followed, how the fake Moody practically outlined the whole thing for everyone present, and they all passed that off simply as Mad-Eye “Constant Vigilance” Moody spewing conspiracy theories due to his legendary paranoia.

“The first task is to test your daring,” Crouch Sr said once all the bickering was done with, “so we are not going to be telling you what it is. Courage in the face of the unknown is an important quality in a wizard … very important… The first task will take place on the twenty-fourth of November, in front of the other students and the panel of judges.

“The champions are not permitted to ask for or accept help of any kind from their teachers to complete the tasks in the tournament. The champions will face the first challenge armed only with their wands. They will receive information about the second task when the first is over. Owing to the demanding and time-consuming nature of the tournament, the champions are exempted from end-of-year tests.”

‘Well, that’s plain stupid for anyone in their NEWT year,’ he thought. ‘The only ones who benefit from that are me and Diggory. The other two aren’t going to give the NEWTs a miss, though I expect the foreign students will be taking them at their respective ministries after the fact.’

Dumbledore tried to talk the other adults into a nightcap, but they all packed off, some in a right huff. The old goat then sent Tsuna and Diggory off to celebrate with their houses, which Tsuna had no intention of doing.

He left the room last and was immediately surrounded by Samsara, and they retreated to Roary’s.

“Excellent job, brother,” Xeul said once they were settled. “Heul looked like someone just trampled all over his grave when his name was called.”

Mukuro opened a window to the common room to see the fallout. Some people were celebrating—the Weasley twins had managed to provide alcohol on short notice—but there were others who seemed quite wroth.

Weasley, Ronald was taking angry sips of butterbeer and scowling viciously, for one.

Granger was ranting about a lack of responsibility and cheating, for another.

Tsuna rolled his eyes. “For someone who goes off on frequent rants about how magicals have no logic or common sense, Granger is sure waving her hypocrisy around like a blunt instrument.”

They stepped into their dorm room a bit later, just to avoid the mess.

Needless to say, Tsuna was treated like a leper from that point on, but never right to his face, not with the localized Bounding Box keeping the sheep away from him.

Just shy of two weeks later the badges began to appear. The one message—

Support Cedric Diggory  
The Real Hogwarts Champion

—was fine. The other message, which appeared when the badge was pressed—

Potter Stinks

—was stupidly childish.

His Mists targeted each and every student who wore one and, as the days went by, those students were looking increasingly drawn and jittery. Of more interest was that none of the staff did a damn thing about the badges, which told Tsuna how little any of them cared and how likely it was that most of them believed he had entered his own name.

He was pulled from Potions by Creevey, who’d been sent to take him to the Weighing of the Wands. Tsuna almost panicked for a moment, but then he remembered that his Ollivander wand was safe in storage, so he got that out while Colin was busy being a fanboy.

He was the last to arrive to a hastily repurposed classroom, and Bagman bounded forward the second he was noticed. Before much of anything had a chance of happening, a reporter grabbed him by the arm and hauled him away to a broom cupboard for an interview.

Tsuna smirked when Daemon suddenly stepped out of nothing and a spade appeared in his eye. The reporter’s expression went blank and her eyes dull, so Tsuna quickly exited and returned to the other room after Daemon winked at him.

All the usual sorts appeared, along with Mr Ollivander, a short time later.

When the wispy old man finally got to him he handed over the holly and phoenix feather wand.

“Why, you must take exceptionally good care of this, Mr Potter,” Ollivander declared. “It’s like it’s brand new!”

Tsuna smiled noncommittally.

Mr Ollivander spent much longer examining that wand than anyone else’s. Eventually, however, he made a fountain of wine shoot out of it, and handed it back, announcing that it was still in perfect condition.

‘Considering I never use the thing, I should hope so,’ he thought.

The reporter arrived back in the room, looking excited and clamoring for photographs of the champions. Tsuna immediately utilized Mist Flames to slide out of the room unnoticed and make a break for it so he could meet up with the others at Roary’s prior to dinner.

The article came out the next day, and amazingly very little was said about Harry Potter, other than to mention that his inclusion was unexpected and it was suspected to have been done by someone who sought his death.

A week later was a Hogsmeade visit, which they spent at the house. The day after, however, Tsuna received a note at breakfast from Hagrid, which made no Earthly sense. Tsuna didn’t think he’d spoken two words to the man in all the time he had been a part of the wizarding world, so why did the man think this would not be a glaring neon sign that Hagrid intended to give him a blatant hint about what he’d be facing in the first task?

Was Dumbledore honestly that clueless as to have not noticed?

Tsuna already knew he’d be facing a dragon thanks to his Mists.

Hagrid had also mentioned he should come with his invisibility cloak. ‘Not fucking happening,’ he thought. ‘He shouldn’t even know about that.’

The next day Moody tried to snag him in the hallway, but Tsuna deftly avoided the fake and trundled off. ‘I swear, is cheating supposed to be a part of the tournament coming from the officials?’

At the tail end of lunch the next day McGonagall hastened over to him and said, “Potter, the champions have to come down to the grounds now. …You have to get ready for your first task.”

Tsuna nodded, got up, and followed her out.

“Now, don’t panic,” she said, “just keep a cool head. …We’ve got wizards standing by to control the situation if it gets out of hand. …The main thing is just to do your best, and nobody will think any the worse of you. …Are you all right?”

“Mm-hm.”

She was leading him toward the place where the dragons were, around the edge of the forest, but when they approached the clump of trees behind which the enclosure would be clearly visible, Harry saw that a tent had been erected, its entrance facing them, screening the dragons from view.

“You’re to go in there with the other champions,” said Professor McGonagall, in a rather shaky sort of voice, “and wait for your turn, Potter. Mr Bagman is in there. …He’ll be telling you the—the procedure. …Good luck.”

Once inside he ignored everyone, especially Bagman when the man tried to suck up to him. He was starting to wonder if the man had laid a bet on his performance and was expecting to make a lot of galleons off him.

A bag was produced and they were bidden to draw from it, with Delacour going first. Tsuna, of course, went last, and drew a Hungarian Horntail, labeled with the number four.

“Well, there you are!” said Bagman. “You have each pulled out the dragon you will face, and the numbers refer to the order in which you are to take on the dragons, do you see? Now, I’m going to have to leave you in a moment, because I’m commentating. Mr Diggory, you’re first, just go out into the enclosure when you hear a whistle, all right? Now … Harry … could I have a quick word? Outside?”

“Mm, no, no you may not,” he said firmly, and refused to move from his spot.

Bagman opened his mouth to say something, but a whistle blew somewhere and he said in alarm, “Good lord, I’ve got to run!” He hastened off through the tent flaps.

Tsuna yawned and took a seat. A book was produced from his pocket and he settled in to read without a care in the world. The other champions looked at him as if he was insane, dangerously ignorant, or just plain stupid. True, he had never faced a dragon before (unless one counted Xanxus), but he wasn’t the least bit worried. Worst case he died, and would start the next life.

When his turn finally came he walked out through the tent entrance, past the trees, and through a gap in the enclosure fence.

The Horntail was at the other end of the enclosure, crouched low over her clutch of eggs, her wings half-furled, her yellow eyes upon him. She was monstrous, scaly, and black, her spiked tail thrashing about, leaving yard-long gouge marks in the ground.

Experiments on the dragons that had been “hidden” in the Forbidden Forest decided the plan for whichever one he drew. Tsuna summoned a handful of grass and transfigured all but one of the blades into nice, fluffy sheep. The Horntail was immediately distracted by the sight of all that food bolting around and baaa-ing their fool heads off and did not notice when he transfigured the last blade into a stone-coloured bowl with legs, which he animated.

The bowl was sent off on a tangent and took a semi-circular route to the nest. While the dragon remained distracted by all that food it could not reach, due to the chains, the bowl sprouted hands which grabbed the golden egg, dumped it into its hollow, and the bowl trundled back to Tsuna along the same semi-circular route.

Tsuna grabbed the egg, canceled the transfigurations, and walked back out of the enclosure. McGonagall was there to lead him to Pomfrey, who gave him a once-over before nodding and walking back to the other champions, who _were_ in need of medical attention.

McGonagall sent him to get his scores, back out into the enclosure. He stayed only long enough for the scores to be given, not that he paid attention, and then booked it back to the tent.

“Well done, all of you!” said Bagman, bouncing into the tent and looking as pleased as though he personally had just got past a dragon. “Now, just a quick few words. You’ve got a nice long break before the second task, which will take place at half past nine on the morning of February the twenty-fourth—but we’re giving you something to think about in the meantime!

“If you look down at those golden eggs you’re all holding, you will see that they open—see the hinges there? You need to solve the clue inside the egg—because it will tell you what the second task is, and enable you to prepare for it! All clear? Sure? Well, off you go, then!”

Tsuna left the tent and was immediately surrounded by his family. They hastened off out of sight and stepped _Between_ to their dorm room, neatly avoiding any encounters with the press.

“Inside, huh?”

Mukuro nodded. “We took a moment to do some fishing. You have to open that under water, because otherwise all you’ll hear is ear-splitting screeching. But since we already know what the second task is, it’s not a problem.”

“And?”

“The lake, in _February_ ,” Daemon said cheerfully. “You’re supposed to go save a hostage, which the merpeople will be guarding, and you’ll only have an hour to do it.”

With that he chucked the egg into storage and forgot about it.

Tsuna was unhappy when McGonagall kept him after class one day the second week of December to pointedly tell him he _would_ be bringing a date to the Yule Ball that had only just been announced, because he _would_ be participating in the opening dance with the other three champions.

He trotted out of the classroom with a frown on his face and went to Roary’s with his family. “A Yule Ball?” he complained.

Daemon started snickering.

“What?” he said, eyeing his friend.

“Do you remember that amusing little game I like to play?”

“Uh…”

“The Sims,” Daemon said, helpfully jogging his memory. “If you send a Romance sim into aspiration failure, they will produce a sponge mop with a painted paper plate for a face to cuddle with and kiss.”

Tsuna stared, then started giggling. “Then I definitely know who my date will be for the Yule Ball. It should send a clear message about just how much of a fuck I don’t give. I think a cut or loop end wet mop would be better though, for the fake hair.”

“Considering the only other option is if one of us goes in drag,” Ken said, a thoughtful look on his face.

“Or a date is imported, because let’s face it, near the entire school thinks poorly of Harry Potter.”

“We could set up barriers that would redirect people every time they tried to come find me if I refused to show up, though I expect if we did that we’d then also have to divert any detentions they’d land me with. I think I’ll go with the mop, though. That’ll be far more amusing in the long run.”

“We have fifteen days to create Heul’s date,” Daemon said gleefully. “We’ll deal with any detentions anyone tries to assign in the aftermath of the ball, and Skeeter won’t be writing anything nasty about you, or about you at all except in passing.”

Tsuna arrived for the ball with his crafted date, and it was only his Mists that kept anyone from properly noticing and objecting. McGonagall lined the champions and their dates up outside the Great Hall, as they would be going in after all the other students had taken seats. Tsuna was positioned last in line, as the fourth, unexpected (and unwelcome) champion, while Delacour took the head (being female), Krum the next spot (as a guest), with Diggory following.

Tsuna appeared to be wearing a muggle tuxedo. He already spent too much time with the equivalent of a dress on over his clothes. The ball was supposed to be a happy event, but Tsuna had never been a social butterfly, hated being center stage, and had every intention of getting in the one “dance” with his obviously-a-protest “date”, and then getting the hell out of dodge.

The other three champions and their dates glanced back occasionally with puzzled frowns, but none of them could quite figure out what was wrong with the situation. Eventually, finally, McGonagall waved them in and informed them they were to open the ball with a dance (which caused more confused looks to go round), and followed them in.

Tsuna looked quite seriously at his plate-faced mop of a date (the makeup job on the paper plate was amateurishly done, rather like the results of a two year old child on his first foray into finger painting) and began to waltz as the music started.

Mafiosi all learned how to dance—those with any importance and standing, anyway—but rarely ever put that training into practice, as most mafiosi felt like ducks in a shooting gallery on a ballroom floor. Those who did indulge were usually the ones who held the most trust in their friends, family, and guardians (if applicable), which subsequently was interpreted as being exceptionally confident and not a little foolhardy.

It was only after the four “couples” were dancing that his Mists relaxed the illusions they had been maintaining. They instead switched to ensuring that no one could get anywhere near Tsuna to reprimand their leader for his outrageous date and clear mockery of the entire proceedings.

Students and staff alike gawked in astonishment upon finally getting a clear look at Harry Potter’s “date”. The Slytherin contingent, once they got over their surprise, started pointing and laughing maliciously, never once getting that the joke was on them, or that it was a clear statement from Harry Potter that there were little to no deserving dates in the school what with so many people all assuming he cheated his way into the tournament and deserved all the hate he was getting.

McGonagall looked as if she was sucking on a particularly sour lemon, while Snape was torn between enjoyment at seeing the (in his eyes) humiliation of the son of his rival and a desire to express outrage in the form of points taken and quite a few detentions.

Dumbledore looked torn between a mien of sad disappointment and vague anger, but he, too, like the other members of staff, were being rewired to do nothing more than make faces at the spectacle. Every last one of them suddenly had the idea that nowhere in the rules for the tournament was it a requirement to hold the ball (it was merely tradition) and that nowhere was it stated a champion’s date for said traditional ball had to be human, or even alive.

“You are so light on your feet, Vanessa!” Tsuna said happily at one point, elegantly going through the steps of a waltz, one hand on the mop handle’s “waist”, while the other held aloft a piece of string intended to represent his “date’s” arm.

The music came to a graceful end and Tsuna bowed to his “date”, then swept off into the crowd. The staff and invited officials suddenly remembered they were supposed to have opened the ball with the meal, not the dance, and hastened to rectify that. They managed to lose track of Harry Potter and his “date” entirely, who, with the help of his Mists, had managed to disappear.

Moments later they were all safe in their dorm room and laughing themselves silly, various windows open to the Great Hall so they could observe.

“Technically,” McGonagall was saying, “he did nothing wrong, certainly nothing against the rules, just against expectation.”

“It is an outrage,” Snape insisted. “He insulted everyone here!”

“Oh, so that wasn’t a nasty smirk of pleasure I saw you wearing just a minute ago, Severus?” McGonagall asked archly. “Should I take that to mean you actively enjoy being insulted? I shall keep that in mind.”

Snape shot a glare her way and clenched his fork and knife tightly.

Tsuna gawked at the zinger and laughed uproariously a moment later.

“Quite tart, that one,” Chikusa said mildly. Even he was sporting a wide smile.

Tsuna grabbed one of the bento boxes that he’d prepared earlier and started to eat. The only thing that would have been better this year was if Mahōtokoro had been invited in place of one of the other two schools, because at least then he could have had some of his native food more regularly. As it was, he had no excuse for corrupting the house-elves into producing Asian cuisine, and every reason not to.

The remainder of the evening was spent watching children make fools of themselves (too many Slytherins) or have an innocent night of pleasure, and they went to sleep in good humor.

The fallout from the event was an extra layer or two of snide remarks and gossip, but as Tsuna had been ignoring all of it anyway, it had no real effect on his mood.

Soon enough it was the day of the Second Task and Tsuna was at the lake’s edge, waiting to dive into frigid waters to rescue someone. Considering that his six guardians were all accounted for and he sincerely doubted his “date” for the Yule Ball would be the one, he was puzzled with regard to exactly who would be awaiting him as what he’d “sorely miss”.

For this task he was employing Mist and Earth and Cloud. The usual localized Bounding Box, adjusted to keep away any denizens of the lake, with Earth Flames in conjunction with Mist and Cloud to simulate the Bubble-Head Charm.

He could cast the Bubble-Head Charm just fine, but was none too keen to rely on it to stop him from drowning. Gillyweed had been another option, but the effect time was fixed, and if he was quick enough he would end up stuck below the surface at the water’s edge in order to breathe until it wore off. Besides, the idea of breathing like a fish gave him the willies.

“Well, all our champions are ready for the second task, which will start on my whistle. They have precisely an hour to recover what has been taken from them. On the count of three, then. One—two—three!”

Tsuna dove into the water and started swimming, following a wisp from one of his Mists. They had collaborated to pinpoint the location of the hostages and of course were guiding him. Once he got close enough he began to hear snatches of singing, the same as from the egg, presumably, but kept following his guide.

A cluster of crude stone dwellings stained with algae loomed suddenly out of the gloom on all sides. Here and there at the dark windows, he saw faces … faces that bore no resemblance at all to the common man’s perception of mermaids.

The merpeople had grayish skin and long, wild, dark green hair. Their eyes were yellow, as were their broken teeth, and they wore thick ropes of pebbles around their necks. They leered at him as he swam past; one or two of them emerged from their caves to watch him better, their powerful, silver fish tails beating the water, spears clutched in their hands.

He continued on and soon the dwellings became more numerous; there were gardens of weeds around some of them, and he even saw a pet grindylow tied to a stake outside one door. Merpeople were emerging on all sides now, watching him eagerly, and talking behind their hands to one another. He swam around a corner and a very strange sight met his eyes.

A whole crowd of merpeople was floating in front of the houses that lined what looked like a mer-version of a village square. A choir of merpeople was singing in the middle, calling the champions toward them, and behind them rose a crude sort of statue; a gigantic merperson hewn from a boulder. Four people were bound tightly to the tail of the stone merperson.

Two of the people tied to the statue were students by their age. One was a girl who looked no older than eight and whose clouds of silvery hair made him think she was related to Delacour. But the final person, who made him seriously consider if he was hallucinating, was Reborn.

He floated there for an endless moment, hands and feet gently moving through the water to keep position, before he shot forward to release Reborn from his bindings. Without hesitation he grabbed hold of his friend and swam hard, using Earth to help him, until he was out of sight of anyone.

A quick film of Mist hid the both of them further, and then Tsuna stepped _Between_ with his passenger, to land in the Hogsmeade house, water sheeting off the both of them.

Reborn’s eyes popped open and Leon was a gun in his hand a split second later and aimed right between Tsuna’s eyes.

“How…?”

Reborn’s eyes narrowed. “What the fuck, Heul.”

“I don’t know! But I’m under a time constraint here. Please, play along, all right? We’ll figure it out after. I have to bring you back under the lake and finish ‘rescuing’ you.”

“Second task?”

“Yes!”

“Make sure I don’t drown. I’ll play dead until we surface again.”

“Okay,” he said with a nod. He used his flames to give Reborn the same protection he had on himself, except invisibly, then stepped _Between_ to under the lake and continued back toward the starting point, again using his flames to assist him.

The second they were out of the water he stripped away the simulated Bubble-Head Charms and allowed Pomfrey to hustle them into the medical tent to be checked over. She gave Reborn an odd look or two, but otherwise didn’t comment, and they were both quickly released with blankets and hot cocoa after he diverted her attempt to shove Pepperup Potion down both their throats.

Tsuna shook his head minutely, then blinked when words flamed in in front of them.

What the fuck!?

How the hell did they manage this!?

He shook his head again.

Right. Later. ASAP.

Tsuna nodded and sipped his cocoa. “Could use some cinnamon,” he murmured.

Reborn snorted softly and nodded.

You were first, by the way, came another message.

Tsuna rolled his eyes; like he gave a fuck about the points. The whole thing was rigged in his favor, by a minion gunning for his death. He finished his cocoa and shot puppy-dog eyes at Pomfrey. She refilled his and Reborn’s mugs, then went back to awaiting the next champion to arrive.

Delacour was next, sporting cuts on her face and arms, and torn up robes; she lacked her hostage and was visibly, dramatically upset.

Diggory returned next, with his hostage, followed by Krum and hostage.

Once everyone was dosed and bundled up and handed a cup of cocoa they were pushed out of the tent to get their scores.

Tsuna was first and got the most points. Delacour was second but lacked her hostage, and was only awarded twenty-five for her efforts. Diggory counted as second and Krum as third, but both returned outside the time limit, and were penalized for it based on the number of minutes beyond the hour.

“The third and final task will take place at dusk on the twenty-fourth of June,” Bagman informed everyone. “The champions will be notified of what is coming precisely one month beforehand. Thank you all for your support of the champions.”

Madam Pomfrey began herding the champions and hostages back to the castle to get into dry clothes, but Tsuna and Reborn gave her the slip, literally disappearing in the crowds, and he stepped him and Reborn _Between_ to the Hogsmeade house.

A window opened briefly, winked out, and then the rest of Samsara arrived, looking quizzically at Reborn.

“Ki-san…”

“How the hell did this happen?” Ken asked roughly. “I don’t fucking mind or anything, but how!? Was anyone paying attention to how they chose the hostages?”

“I sure as fuck don’t think the veela chick would have handed her little sister over,” Hayato replied.

“Forget that for the moment. We need to get clothing for Heul and Reborn,” Daemon said loudly enough that everyone shut up and started nodding.

They were bundled off to the bedrooms and clothing found, windows were opened to strategic places so they would know if they had to be somewhere urgently, and everyone convened again in the kitchen to sit, eat, and talk.

“What do you remember?” he asked, still not quite convinced that his friend from another dimension was now his friend of the present dimension.

“I was in a meeting when it happened,” Reborn replied. “We were having the annual Arcobaleno summit. Literally the first thing I remember after being sucked into a void was shoving a gun at your forehead, and then being surprised by what—or rather, who—I was seeing.”

His Mists exchanged a look, then Xeul nodded and stepped out.

“Gone to find out?” he said.

“Of course, darling,” Mukuro said.

“Um…” Tsuna felt uncertain, and he hated feeling uncertain. “Would you prefer to live here at the Hogsmeade house or at the one in Little Whinging?”

Reborn stared at him for so long he felt a bit nervous for once. “Here, during the school year. Otherwise there.”

Tsuna beamed. “Would you like one of my localized Bounding Boxes to keep the plebs away?”

“I think,” Reborn said carefully, “to start with, yes. Your stories of these people are hardly encouraging. If they’re forced to keep their distance, I might be less inclined to shoot them all dead.”

He pulled a ring out of storage and got busy anchoring a Bounding Box to it, then handed it over. “You can see it, but no outsider can,” he said as Reborn slipped it onto a finger. “We acquired a pensieve, you know. Would you like to see the Yule Ball?”

Reborn smiled; it wasn’t a nice smile.

Daemon fetched the pensieve out of storage and dropped a memory into it. “You just need to touch the surface with a finger.”

Reborn did so and froze in place, trusting them to watch his back, and emerged a bit later laughing his ass off. “I can’t believe you did that. You spit in the face of the event like a pro. The chaos was marvelous.”

Tsuna grinned. “I had a lot of help, but it was quite enjoyable, I must say. I sure as hell wasn’t going to give any living person the opportunity to try to spin a love story and marriage proposal out of a single dance.”

“I’ll happily shoot anyone who tries,” Reborn said with a toothy smile.

His Mists exchanged a speaking look, which rather confused him, but he brushed it aside for the moment.

Xeul returned and took a seat. “They used the Goblet of Fire to choose the hostages. Clearly, the thing had the power to drag Reborn here and a little girl from France. Delacour is still having conniptions over her little sister being put in such danger. There’s clearly some leeway here, else I expect Diggory’s girlfriend would not be the one taken under the lake. Having his mother be his hostage would have doomed his social life for the next decade or so.”

Tsuna snorted in laughter at the idea, then sobered. “I dearly hope there is not a universe out there with a mysteriously missing yet dead Harry Potter and I’m the one who gets hauled out of whatever universe I’m in to deal with all this again, with no damn support.”

“I think,” Mukuro said slowly, “in a case like that, you’d be considered dead and moved on, so we’d end up with you still, just having to scramble for bodies. And if it did ever happen, you can bet I’d be pushing for Hayato to disintegrate that fucking cup the second it was safe to do so.”

Chikusa looked at Reborn and said, “Reborn. Were you adequately able to see Hogwarts castle during your brief time on the grounds? Or now, should you look out the window?”

Reborn blinked and went to the window briefly. “Yes, I can.”

“So we can pretend you are either a low-powered wizard or a strong squib, perhaps.”

“That ring should keep anyone from asking impertinent questions,” Tsuna pointed out. “Keeping you fed, however… Er, should we go hire a house-elf, or…?”

“That would leave a house-elf de-homed when you inevitably die another hilariously stupid death, Heul, unless maybe you left a will?” Hayato said.

Reborn shook his head. “No. I’ll stay at № 6 for now, so I can fend for myself. I’d rather not have to get all my meals at the local here and start raising questions. You guys can visit me there as easily as here. All I’d need is funds, since I’m effectively destitute now.”

Daemon nodded. “I’ll arrange for a credit card, but until that’s ready we have plenty of cash on hand at the house. There’s a Bounding Box anchored there, so no one should get too curious about you suddenly becoming a resident. We will have to arrange for new documentation, though, but that can wait until the summer, I imagine. Or we can teach Reborn how to portal, though for that…”

“Yeah. We’d need to be sure the Vindice won’t be on our arses about it,” Tsuna said. “And that’s probably better to wait on until we’re in Italy again, so we don’t have them here in the middle of the magical community. If we already have them on our side what with giving them custody of the solution, I expect they won’t quibble when they learn we can all portal and plan to teach Reborn.”

“Maybe an emergency portkey?”

“We could do that. We’ve not figured out how to make a ‘permanent’ one, but having an emergency one on hand, from here to there, and another from there to here…”

“Non-magicals can use them just fine, though I recall that book said the effects are magnified. You’re a Sun, though,” he said, “so you could easily negate any nausea, I expect. The only thing I’m uncertain of is if a portkey would work that close to the wards at № 4.”

Reborn coughed. “Could you open a window to my room back at the Iron Fort? I see no reason you can’t retrieve my belongings, and let Heul’s counterpart know what happened.”

Tsuna’s eyes went wide. “Right, of course. Duh!” He opened a window to Reborn’s quarters and started pulling through everything Reborn highlighted, stacking it all nearby for the moment.

Once that was complete the window was reopened in Decimo’s office to see who was there. In a rare bit of luck his counterpart was alone, so Tsuna opted to move his window in place to cover the screen of the computer in use, briefly blanking out the screen, then signaled to Reborn.

Reborn moved into place in front of the window while everyone else covered themselves in Mist or Disillusionment Charms.

Decimo gawked, his eyes going wide with surprise. “Reborn!?”

“Yeah, hey. I need to tell you I was unavoidably called away, so you won’t be seeing me again in person. I’m with the people who set me free, so I’m in good hands. You’re strong, Tsuna. I know you’ll be all right without me.”

“But—”

Reborn shook his head. “We had a good run, kid. You’re an adult now, you have trusted family around you to help you. Dino’s only a call away if you need advice.”

“I—I’ll miss you,” Decimo admitted, looking a bit watery-eyed.

Reborn smiled sunnily and saluted, so Tsuna blanked the window and shifted it back to storage. The smile slid off and Reborn said, “That kinda hurt, actually. He’s no you, Heul, but…”

“You were probably the only person he could count on as a father figure, Ki-san. Do you want to say good-bye to anyone else, or let Decimo take care of it? I know the second he tells his guardians, the news will spread like wildfire.”

Reborn shook his head. “I’m not in the mood for more farewells. As for portkeys… I’m thinking the metal collar stays I use for my shirts. No magical would ever think of those as being portkeys, assuming they even recognized them for what they are, or thought to look for them.”

“Excellent idea,” Daemon said approvingly. “We’ll take care of it shortly.”

“I’m going to make us something to eat,” he announced. “Any requests?”

Half a dozen things were shouted out, but Reborn requested ossobuco, so Tsuna went with that. No matter that Reborn was cool as a cucumber on the outside, inside he was probably a roiling mass of conflicting emotions and feeling more than a bit disconnected and lost.

“I’ll go fetch what we need,” Mukuro volunteered, and stepped out.

Ingredients started to shift into place so Tsuna got to work, taking occasional sips of butterbeer and happily chatting with the others. The meal was shortly served along with some fluffy quick rolls, fresh butter, and a small salad, and everyone dove in happily.

“So, the final task?” Reborn asked, then took a bite and hummed.

“A maze, with various creatures, obstacles, and so forth,” Hayato said, forking his salad.

“We’ll have windows up to check the layout as soon as we can,” Daemon said, “so Heul will know the precise route to take, plus know what obstacles he’ll have to overcome. I doubt they’ll have it first thing, since they’d need time to get everything ready. We should have the time we need to chart the additions to it.”

“And at the end? You shared the plot you uncovered.”

“We’ll be keeping an eye on the snake, since we know it was made into a Horcrux. That will need to be destroyed prior to the Dark Lord being offed. If we’re unlucky enough that Snape is called to the rebirthing ceremony, we’ll have to mind-fuck him not to alert the old goat to the truth. Dumbledore needs to die believing that Snape will take care of guilting me into playing martyr, and then Snape can be taken care of after the old goat is out of the picture. If anyone shows up for the ceremony we’ll have to take care of them then. We know we missed at least a handful of people during the purge, those who were assumed dead or fled to other countries.”

“Pettigrew can be handled with a compulsion,” Xeul said, a spade appearing in his eye briefly. “Send him off to confess his crimes to Madame Bones of the DMLE, and that opens the door for his death or incarceration, and Black’s exoneration.”

“And, of course, a quick check to ensure that we did get every Horcrux before the party gets started and the lead defect gets offed,” Mukuro said.

“We’ll be using windows and _Between_ to manage,” he said. “The fake Moody will turn the Triwizard Cup into a portkey to send me to the graveyard. Since I won’t be able to rely on it to get back, I’ll have to summon the Knight Bus to get me back, or wait for someone in charge to come find me.”

Reborn frowned. “Do you want them to be aware of what happened? Would it be more politic to use one of those time turners you mentioned you acquired to turn back and appear in the correct spot in the maze a split second after you were portkeyed away?”

“If the old goat has no reason to suspect anything of interest occurred…”

“It might put him off his game a bit,” Tsuna allowed. “All that paranoia for nothing. Except for the part where the fake Moody is exposed.”

“How frequently does he take sips out of that flask?” Reborn asked.

“He times it pretty tight from what we’ve observed,” Chikusa said. “Right on the edge of the current dose wearing off. All the other times he’s seen drinking from it are faked, but only someone highly observant would notice the difference.”

“So if I were in a position to shoot the flask off him…”

“He’d have no back up,” Chikusa confirmed.

“I can adjust your ring for that day,” Tsuna said, “so you won’t be seen. I know you’re a sneaky bastard and probably wouldn’t need it, but I prefer to go a bit overkill in maintaining safety.”

Reborn nodded. “That’s fine. For now assume I’ll be shooting that flask out of his reach and putting a hole through it that will waste whatever potion is left in it. And if the timing is that tight he’ll change back in front of everyone before he has a chance to adjust.”

“And even one person shooting a stunner at him would likely start a free-for-all of capture spells,” Hayato said.

“We’ll continue to refine the plan,” he said, “but for now, let’s enjoy this meal.”

School was the usual grind right up until late May, when Professor McGonagall held him back after Transfiguration. “You are to go down to the quidditch field tonight at nine o’clock, Potter,” she told him. “Mr Bagman will be there to tell the champions about the third task.”

At half eight Tsuna started off, his invisible Mists in tow. He ignored Diggory, who arrived in the entrance hall at the same time, and headed out the huge front doors and across the lawn to the quidditch pitch, through a gap in the stands, and onto the field.

Diggory, who had silently walked the same path, came to a dead stop. “What’ve they done to it?” he said indignantly.

If Tsuna gave a damn about quidditch he might be inclined to openly agree. The field was no longer smooth and flat. Instead there were long, low walls all over it that twisted and crisscrossed in every direction. Hedges, to be precise.

“Hello there!” called a cheery voice from the middle of the field. Bagman was there with Krum and Delacour, and he was waving them over.

Tsuna picked his way across and came to a stop nearby, though far enough away that should Bagman come after him again it would be obvious what the man was up to. Not necessarily any good for Harry Potter’s reputation, but still obvious.

“Well, what d’you think?” Bagman asked happily. “Growing nicely, aren’t they? Give them a month and Hagrid’ll have them twenty feet high. Don’t worry,” he added, grinning, spotting the less-than-happy expression on Diggory’s face, “you’ll have your quidditch field back to normal once the task is over! Now, I imagine you can guess what we’re making here?”

No one spoke for a moment. Then—

“Maze,” Krum grunted.

“That’s right,” said Bagman. “A maze. The third task’s really very straightforward. The Triwizard Cup will be placed in the center of the maze. The first champion to touch it will receive full marks.”

Which implied that they all had to touch it to get scores based on their time through the maze.

“We seemply ’ave to get through the maze?” said Fleur.

“There will be obstacles,” said Bagman happily, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Hagrid is providing a number of creatures… Then there will be spells that must be broken… All that sort of thing, you know. Now, the champions will enter in order by who is leading on points, so our current top scorer will get a head start into the maze.”

Bagman grinned at Tsuna. “Then Mr Diggory will enter, then Mr Krum, and finally Miss Delacour. But you’ll all be in with a fighting chance, depending how well you get past the obstacles. Should be fun, eh?”

Various heads nodded politely.

“Very well … if you haven’t got any questions, we’ll go back up to the castle, shall we, it’s a bit chilly…” Bagman hurried over to where Tsuna was making his way out of the maze, but was deftly diverted by his localized Bounding Box.

It was a bit comical how many times Bagman tried to approach him and just as frequently was diverted, but eventually the man gave it up as a bad job and scurried on ahead.

Krum split off to the Durmstrang ship and Delacour to the Beauxbatons carriage, while Diggory shivered and took off at a jog once they were out of the hedges.

Tsuna just enjoyed the walk, stepping _Between_ as soon as he was out of sight of any possible watchers.


	6. λ15: 06: 1995

## λ15  
06: 1995

At the conclusion of breakfast on the day of the Third Task, the families of the champions arrived to spend the day with them. Tsuna was conspicuous in being utterly alone. Samsara had to take exams, whereas Tsuna was exempt.

Rather than stick around to face pity he took himself off to a quiet spot and stepped over to the house, where Reborn was waiting, and kept a window open at the school in case anyone should go looking for him.

It gave him a chance to do some baking to keep his nerves steady. He would not normally be nervy, being generally too jaded about the possibility of death to get worked up, but with Reborn now amongst their number, the very idea of something going wrong and him departing for the next alternate early had him nearly biting his nails in worry.

Oh, he knew Reborn would make do and even thrive no matter where he ended up, but…

Tsuna churned out all sorts of baked goods over the course of the morning, which Reborn happily taste-tested, then returned to Hogwarts so he could be seen at lunch. After that he returned to the house and Samsara to their remaining exams, not to be seen again until dinner.

Before he left he said, “One of the Mists will be here to get you. Let me adjust the ring, please.”

Reborn removed it and offered it up, so Tsuna set to work on it, ensuring that the only people who’d be capable of seeing the Sun were members of Samsara. He handed it back and watched as Reborn slid it back onto his finger.

“All right, I’m off, then.”

Reborn took a step forward and placed his hands on Tsuna’s shoulders, then leaned in to plant a lingering kiss on his cheek. “Knock ’em dead, Heul.”

His eyes went wide in confusion. “Uh, right?”

Reborn smiled and let him go.

He slid into the spot waiting for him at the Gryffindor table and breathed a quiet sigh. Because having a massive feast with multiple courses right before four students were set to go into the maze was a brilliant idea. For everyone else, perhaps.

He helped himself to onion soup, salad, roast chicken, and mash with gravy. His family kept up conversation around him, slipping in the occasional reassurance that would be mistaken by anyone listening in for something else entirely.

His head went up when a series of bangs sounded—the result of Dumbledore sending up more purple fireworks with his wand—and the old goat said, “Ladies and gentlemen, in five minutes I will be asking you to make your way down to the quidditch field for the third and final task of the Triwizard Tournament. Will the champions please follow Mr Bagman down to the stadium now.”

Daemon gave his arm a quick squeeze as Tsuna got up and headed off with the other three. His family at the table were there on turned time; they had already lived through the events to come, and their calm demeanor helped him to to remain calm himself.

“Feeling all right, Harry?” Bagman asked as they went down the stone steps onto the grounds. “Confident?”

“Placed a bet on me, have you?” he asked, then stepped away to the other side of the group. He knew he’d hit it when Bagman gasped, and wondered if his family had already come up with some nefarious scheme the man would shortly be suffering from, for he knew they were pacing him with at least one window. “Is that why you’re always fluttering around trying to give me advice I don’t want?”

A twenty-foot high hedge ran all the way around the edge of the quidditch pitch. There was a gap right in front of where they stopped, and the passage beyond it looked dark and forbidding.

Five minutes later the stands began to fill with students and visitors, and the sky had turned a deep, clear blue, the first stars starting to appear. Tsuna zoned out, wondering where Reborn would be stationed, for surely whichever Mist had brought him in knew precisely where the Sun would need to be for his part in things.

He snapped back to attention when he heard Bagman say, “So … on my whistle, Harry! Three—two—one—” He gave a short blast on his whistle.

Tsuna darted into the maze, already having memorized all the necessary turns, plus what obstacles he would have to face. He had planned a route to purposely avoid the boggart, because he still had no idea what his was, and the last thing he needed to deal with was finding out it would turn into a dead family member, or himself as a half-braindead Decimo. Or worse, a clone of his biological father.

Partway through his darting and dashing he heard a feminine scream. Either Delacour had run into trouble or one of the boys had been bashed in a tender spot.

The Blast-Ended Skrewt he ran into was taken care of by banishing a rock up the tube it used to propel itself and a piercing spell to its underside when the first one flipped it arse over teakettle. The golden mist that flipped his orientation upside down was nothing more than a blip on the radar for someone who regularly made gravity his bitch.

The sphinx, however, forced him to pause. If the riddle was too hard he would have to take an alternate route.

> #### “I do not breathe, but I run and jump.  
>  I do not eat, but I swim and stretch.  
>  I do not drink, but I sleep and stand.  
>  I do not think, but I grow and play.  
>  I do not see, but you see me every day.”

‘What do those activities have in common?’ he thought. ‘Living things, not fish or sharks, so things with legs—oh.’ He said, “A leg.”

The sphinx smiled broadly. She got up, stretched her front legs, and then moved aside for him to pass.

He heard someone yell out, “Crucio,” but kept going. For all he knew it was a recording meant to divert champions from their paths if they got too close to the center, and he knew he was very close.

He turned into what should be the final approach and, up ahead a hundred yards away, was the gleaming Triwizard Cup, resting on a plinth. He was nearly into the small clearing when something rose into view over a hedge to the left; it was moving quickly toward an opening on the other side.

‘Fucking spiders,’ he thought, absently tossing a barrier behind him to divert anyone coming from that direction, then shot piercing spells forward toward the opening, timing it just right to get the massive spider that was just coming around the corner.

The thing keeled over sideways, flattening the nearby hedge, and strewed the path with a tangle of hairy legs. Tsuna rolled his eyes and approached the cup. A glance at his watch showed him the time and he memorized it, then he reached out to grab the cup.

Instantly he felt a jerk somewhere behind his navel, and he responded by using his Mist Flames to cover himself with illusion.

On arrival he tossed the cup into storage and took note of the flaming letters on display: We’re in position.

They quickly changed to: The rat is in front of you and to your left, approaching you.

His wand went into storage as a precaution. Pettigrew was wearing a hooded cloak and cradling the homunculus in one arm, and stopped beside a towering marble headstone, his posture quizzical.

A second later his twins stepped out of _Between_ and each took one of the figures under their power. A third figure approached, Hayato, and with him was Mukuro, who with him brought the snake.

“We’re clear,” Mukuro said. “Nagini is the last of them.”

He faded into view and nodded.

“We’ll just take care of that over behind a tombstone so it’s not immediately obvious, and then we can get on with the rebirthing ceremony.”

He nodded again.

A minute later there was an eruption of red flames, a gush of face-shaped, screaming smoke, and then nothing. Hayato was presumably hidden again (and possibly atop a tombstone or perched in one of the dead-looking trees), and Mukuro came into view again, this time with Harry Potter’s twin.

“A rapist,” Mukuro said with a malicious grin, “already programmed to act like a scared boy putting on a brave front.” The duplicate was led over to the spot the portkey had arrived at and positioned, then Mukuro faded out of sight. An illusory Triwizard Cup appeared a moment later, near the decoy.

Daemon shot him a smile. “These two won’t have a clue anything is wrong. As soon as the Dark Baby has been ‘rebirthed’ and we know if anyone else is coming to the party, we’ll get them back under control so we can finish this off.”

“I’ll just disappear again for now,” he said, then did just that.

The twins chuckled and faded away, as well.

Tsuna moved off to the side as the tableau unfroze. Pettigrew’s hand snapped up and a spell was fired, neatly hitting the dazed stand-in. Pettigrew gently set down his burden and moved forward to grab the substitute, dragging him to the marble tombstone.

In what little light there was from the stars and moon overhead, Tsuna could see the incision.

TOM RIDDLE

Pettigrew slammed the decoy against the tombstone and used his wand to conjure tight cords, tying him to the stone from the neck down to the ankles. A length of black material was drawn from the rat’s pocket, bunched up, and stuffed into the stand-in’s mouth.

The rat huffed off and returned dragging a huge cauldron full of some kind of liquid, the sound of it slopping around inside loud against the soundscape of an otherwise quiet night. Pettigrew busied himself lighting a fire under the cauldron, and the liquid inside heated up quite fast, the surface bubbling and sending up fiery sparks.

“Hurry!” said a high, cold voice.

Tsuna eyed the bundle disdainfully, then looked back at the cauldron. The surface was alight with sparks, like crystallized starlight or the brilliant glitter of a snowcrust on a moonlit winter night.

“It is ready, Master.”

“Now…” said the cold voice.

Tsuna rather thought, after Pettigrew opened the bundle of fabric covering the homunculus, that it was ugly. A bizarre human-snake hybrid of raw-looking, scaly flesh, with spindly arms and legs, a flat face, and gleaming red eyes.

The sort of thing he’d expect to see in a Silent Hill game, perhaps.

Pettigrew seemed to feel the same way given the look of revulsion on his face as he lifted the thing and carried it to the cauldron. He lowered it in to the sound of a hiss, and then there was a soft thud as the homunculus hit the bottom.

The rat raised his wand, closed his eyes, and intoned: “ _Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son_!”

The surface of the grave the stand-in was bound to cracked. A fine trickle of dust arose from within and fell into the cauldron, the surface of which hissed and sparked and turned a vivid, poisonous-looking blue.

Pettigrew whimpered as he pulled a long, thin, shining silver dagger from his cloak, and sobbed before he said: “ _Flesh—of the servant—w-willingly given—you will—revive—your master_.”

Tsuna’s brow went up as he realized what the rat was about to do and winced when Pettigrew sliced off his own right hand, which fell into the cauldron with a sickening splash. ‘You don’t see that shit every day,’ he thought. ‘Then again, this guy is so spinelessly terrified…’

The potion turned a burning red—maybe the added blood?

Pettigrew gasped and moaned in agony, but turned and moved to stand in front of the decoy.

“ _B-blood of the enemy … forcibly taken … you will … resurrect your foe_.”

That same shining, silver dagger pierced the stand-in’s arm and drew plenty of blood. Pettigrew fumbled in his pocket for a glass vial with which to gather some of the freely dripping blood, then staggered back to the cauldron and emptied the vial into it.

The liquid within instantly turned a blinding white.

The rat dropped to his knees and slumped sideways, to lay on the ground, cradling the bleeding stump of his arm and sobbing.

Tsuna backed up a bit more, even though his intuition was not concerned. He wanted to make certain he remembered the details in case he ever again ended up as Harry Potter on his seemingly endless journey through the infinity of alternate universes. If he did end up in a similar situation, perhaps he could get everything accomplished early, because it was likely that many of the details would be similar.

The sparks the cauldron was sending out increased and multiplied and did their best to blind everyone. And then suddenly it all stopped. A surge of white steam billowed from the cauldron instead, smothering the area in a thick vapor.

Another surge happened, but it was due to a figure rising up, pushing the mist away. A tall, skeletally thin man emerged and said in that same high, cold voice, “Robe me.”

Pettigrew, still sobbing, scrambled to pick up the earlier discarded black robes—

Tsuna again had to pause in thought and wonder if the Dark Lord would be upset that his clothing was not pristine.

—and stand up so he could pull them, one-handed, over his master’s head.

‘Thank kami there’s enough mist still fuzzing the view that I do not know whether or not the Dark Stick is a Ken doll given that balls-lacking voice,’ he thought, watching as the newly-made man stepped out of the cauldron. The figure’s skin was bleached bone in colour, with wide, scarlet eyes, and a nose as flat as a snake’s with slits for nostrils.

‘At least he’s not a furry?’

The Dark Lord drew a wand from the pocket of the robes and gestured for Pettigrew’s arm, then scowled and indicated the other one when the rat offered up his bleeding stump.

Tsuna sketched flaming words of Mist in the air: He’s going to try calling what others may be left?

Pettigrew’s Dark Mark was a livid red. The Dark Stick pressed a too-long finger to it; it went jet black in response. When Voldemort began to monologue, Tsuna zoned out so he didn’t lose any brain cells. The only people he knew off hand who were marked and free were Snape, Karkaroff, and Crouch Jr. Only after the Dark Lord had called his followers did he graciously grant the rat a new, silver hand to replace the one he’d sacrificed.

A glance at his watch showed that surprisingly little time had passed, so he would hopefully see the reactions of those three after he’d turned back and made it appear as if nothing had gone wrong. It was going to take some tricky timing and clever use of illusion to cover the fact that he’d been whisked away by portkey.

‘Glory be,’ he thought. ‘No one came. And doesn’t Voldemort look _pissed_.’

Another few minutes went by as the Dark Lord raged, and then it all just … stopped.

Daemon and Xeul stepped into view, each controlling a target. Eyes went blank, and mouths slack.

Daemon stared intently at Pettigrew for several minutes, silently imparting instructions, then tagged the man and stepped back. Pettigrew disapparated, presumably to go turn himself in and spill every relevant bit of knowledge he had.

Xeul nodded toward where Tsuna had last been visible and said, “He’s all yours, darling.”

Tsuna faded back into view and fetched his wand from storage, then sent a brace of piercing hexes at the Dark Snake, through the heart, the eyes, the throat, and lungs. A dark mist rose from the corpse and broke apart. There was no screaming face this time, and no wraith trying to swoop through someone’s body so it could (presumably) steal a bit of life force or magic.

Daemon opened a window into the Department of Mysteries, in the Hall of Prophecy, in front of row ninety-seven. The prophecy given by Trelawney was dark, its cold blue light extinguished.

“Right,” he said. “Hayato?”

Mukuro stepped out with Hayato in tow, and his Storm set to work disintegrating the body. A flick of his wand once it was done saw the particles that once made up the Dark Lord’s short-lived new body whisked into an iron box, which was sealed tightly.

“We can dump it in the ocean,” Hayato said.

Tsuna checked his watch again. “I have about ten minutes before I need to turn back. I plan to go back two hours so I can be in place on time at the center of the maze.”

“That gives us time to dump this off, then, and we can turn back as well, to make sure we have a place for you at the table, for one.”

“And to get Reborn in place,” Xeul said. “We’ll see you once you’ve won the task and the tournament, darling.”

Tsuna nodded and stepped _Between_ to the usual spot, got out his time turner and turned back two hours once the ten minutes were up, then stepped _Between_ again to a room at the Hogsmeade house, one that Reborn knew not to go into until after the event. The time turner was tucked away until later; he would retrieve and stow it after the tournament was concluded, so that he did not somehow create a paradox inside his storage space and blow up the multi-verse or something equally silly.

He stepped again, this time to the center of the maze, but stayed on the edges of _Between_ so he could observe without being caught at it. Sure enough, not even a half hour prior to the start of the task, the fake Moody stumped his way in to set up the cup and, before he stumped off, make it into a portkey with a tap of his wand.

Tsuna waited as patiently as he could, restlessly pacing a small area because he had yet to manage to _Edge_ while standing still, until finally he could hear Bagman’s voice echoing over the hedges to commence the third task. Ten minutes later his earlier self came into view and tossed up a barrier, then took down the gargantuan spider, reminding him he needed to remove that the moment his other self was gone.

Tsuna brought his Mist Flames into play and masked what was really happening on the off chance the officials were using some method to spy with, and pulled his copy of the Triwizard Cup out of storage, moving into position a short distance behind his other self.

It was more than a little strange using his flames to prevent his other self from realizing he was there. The moment his earlier self was portkeyed away he melded with the illusion copy of himself, which was just then grabbing onto the cup, and dispelled it at the same time.

Nothing happened.

He had almost expected the hedges to disappear, but remembered that had the points been spread around a bit differently, him reaching the cup first might not have gotten him the win. Did the thing have a flesh memory like a snitch did, so the officials could accurately tell in what order the champions touched it?

He absently dispelled the barrier his earlier self had thrown up and settled in to wait. No sense tipping the fake Moody off and ruining their plan.

‘Why do I get the feeling I’ll have to watch a pensieve memory in order to see of any of the exciting bits on this end?’

When nothing further had happened ten minutes on he pulled a deck of cards out of storage and started a game of clock solitaire on a blade of grass transfigured into a slab of wood. A window was aimed at each of the openings to the little clearing and positioned where he could easily keep watch, though he hoped his intuition would warn him of anyone (or anything) incoming.

He played several games before a sudden swell of noise came to his ears. He looked up, but could only see the sky from his position. Not even the tops of the stands were in view. He heaved a sigh and listened. There might have been the odd scream or two in the babble of voices, but he couldn’t be sure.

Did that mean Crouch Jr had been exposed?

A message finally flamed up in front of him: Reborn’s shot was true. Not sure how much longer before they finally buy a clue and come investigate the champions. These idiots don’t even have any kind of visual tracking on you four.

Tsuna rolled his eyes and continued his game.

It took nearly an hour before anyone thought to enter the maze to see what had become of the champions. Tsuna first noticed something in his peripheral vision and looked over to see red sparks high in the sky. A short time later there was a second set of sparks, followed quickly by a third.

And then, McGonagall appeared and stopped dead on seeing him playing clock solitaire on his transfigured slab of wood, the Triwizard Cup still sitting there on its plinth.

“Mr Potter!”

“Hm?” he hummed, not bothering to look up as he shifted cards about.

“The third task is officially over. Come along now, and bring the cup with you.”

He pushed all the cards back together into a deck and slipped them into their case, then into his pocket, then got up and grabbed the cup. McGonagall led him out in silence, using a non-verbal spell to make openings appear as necessary in the hedges for a direct route out.

Bagman noticed them emerge and coughed, then cast an Amplifying Charm on himself. “Ladies and gentlemen!” he called out. “It appears the only champion to make it to the cup is Mr Potter of Hogwarts, and is awarded full marks. That makes Mr Potter the Triwizard Champion!”

There was a lackluster amount of applause, either because they all still assumed he cheated, or because they were too caught up in prematurely downed champions and a fake Moody being exposed.

Minister Fudge waddled over and shoved a sack in his hand. “Here you go!” he said, his mind clearly elsewhere, and then waddled off again, his two auror guards in tow.

Tsuna blinked and shrugged, then shoved the pouch into his pocket. “May I go now, professor?”

“What?” she said, turning back to look at him. “Yes, Potter, you may go.”

He smiled blandly and started walking. Tsuna hadn't taken more than a half dozen steps before he was joined by Hayato, Ken, and Chikusa. By the time he got halfway to the castle his Mists had joined him. Reborn had presumably been dropped back off at № 6.

Samsara slipped into the castle and up to the tower, employing Mist Flames to keep them unremarkable to the occupants therein, and they made it to their dorm room without any hassle.

Tsuna shoved the cup into storage and flopped onto his bed with a sigh. “What a night.”

“And yet somehow it was almost more boring than that one time for the Scramble Battles,” Chikusa commented.

“At least the Varia have personality,” Hayato said. “Half these people shop at the same persona store. Inbred pure-blood bigot modules on sale, half price off! Special discounts for an inflated sense of superiority!”

He snickered. “The Varia have also proven time and time again just how quickly they can fuck you up if you aren’t careful, whereas too many of these old farts are riding the coattails of their ancestors and tossing gold around like confetti. Ugh. I can’t believe it took them that long to even bother come find out what happened to us. And speaking of which, what did happen to the others?”

Mukuro smirked. “Crouch Jr happened. He was stalking around the maze with that eye of Moody’s rather than outside patrolling. He ambushed Delacour and took her out of the running, then used the Imperius Curse on Krum to get Krum to use the Cruciatus on Diggory.”

Tsuna huffed. “Oh. Then all that wasn’t meant to divert people away from the goal.”

Mukuro shook his head. “Soon as he had those three down he stumped back out as fast as he could and started to patrol. No one sent up red sparks, so none of the patrollers went in to pull them out. Delacour had half her silvery hair gnawed off by a frustrated niffler while she was lying there unconscious.”

His eyes widened at the thought. After a quick shudder he sat back up. “Karkaroff?”

“Tagged him. He fled the moment his Dark Mark went fully active.”

“Snape?”

“Got into a low-voiced argument with Dumbledore about his mark going active, but we meddled,” Daemon said. “Neither of them remember that the mark went active—and Snape is compelled to ignore that it has since I doubt he bathes with his clothes on and will see it from time to time—and the people around them had their memories of the time during the conversation erased or altered.”

“Crouch Jr?”

“Reborn did exactly what he promised, based on our signal. The flask was punctured and knocked far enough away that it was useless to him. He started to change back in front of everyone, and was promptly stunned. Several aurors not part of Fudge’s guard were here to watch the task, and they hauled him off to the DMLE for interrogation. We might have done a bit more meddling with the old goat’s mind to make it veer off on a tangent every time the subject of Karkaroff or the fake came up, so he should die before he can come to the realization that he’s been duped. We can make sure of it over the next few days. We don’t leave until the third of July, after all.”

“Any idea how much longer he has?”

Xeul shrugged. “Soon-ish, but we could tinker some more with him and Snape to ensure those potions he’s been delivering are nothing more than placebos. He should move on to his so-called ‘next great adventure’ in a day or so.”

“I’m leaning toward placebos. I would like him dead as quickly as possible without directly pulling the trigger myself. It’s all well and good to feel a bit of schadenfreude at his predicament given his thoughts on Harry Potter, but let’s not tempt fate on this one.”

Daemon stepped out a second later.

“Once the old goat is dead we can deal with Karkaroff—maybe he’s just never found again and people are left in doubt—and then Snape can have a tragic accident of some kind. Karkaroff may be a spineless dweeb, but he’s still a pure-blood bigot and must have done something to deserve that tattoo, just like Snape and Malfoy and all the others.”

“A potions accident is tempting,” Chikusa said, “but also a bit cliché. Trampled by a herd of nifflers? A sinkhole opens up in Hogsmeade and swallows him?”

Tsuna snorted in laughter. “With how greasy he is I don’t think anyone would ever swallow him, so why would a sinkhole?”

Mukuro laughed creepily. “Such a pervert today, darling.”

Chikusa gave him a mildly reproving look before continuing, “The one Rube Goldberg-style machine that actually functions correctly and kills him? …No, that would go against the laws of the universe. Hm.”

“I’m suddenly imagining a horde of lemmings, a fishing net, and a panicked scamper over a cliff.”

“I’d say have Reborn shoot him, but any muggle-born would recognize the wound and it would cast doubt on anyone muggle-raised.”

“So.” Ken drew the word out so far it was ludicrous. “We pull a random card from the Heul’s Bizarre Deaths File and reenact it?”

Tsuna grabbed a pillow and chucked it at his Sun.

“Accidentally asphyxiated by a roaming, amateur dominatrix?”

“Stripped of all his flesh by a locust swarm?”

Tsuna waved his hands around. “Let’s all sleep on it. We have a week to think about it, and maybe Reborn will have some ideas we could use. I’m gonna go grab a shower.”

It was funny how the school’s collective attitude flipped after Tsuna won the tournament. There was suddenly no mention of his _obvious_ cheating to get in, or how _obviously_ he’d had adults like Bagman feeding him all the answers so he was better prepared than anyone to face the tasks.

He was a hero now.

Speaking of Bagman, he had won his bet, but instead of using the money to square his debts with the goblins, he had blown it on yet more gambling. He was presumably an addict to some degree. The last anyone heard of him was a panicked flight to get out of the reach of the goblins.

Karkaroff had fled to a shack in Siberia and been killed in a freak avalanche.

Thankfully, it was not until after they were on the train home that Dumbledore slipped into a coma and died, so they were not enjoined to attend the man’s funeral in person. Once they were in their compartment they stepped out to № 6, though Tsuna did make a quick detour to pick up and stow his time turner before joining the others.

Reborn had decided to be more French than Italian and had greeted Tsuna with a kiss to each cheek. As he was not completely up to speed on everything French culture-wise, he was unsure if that was the done thing or not. So he blinked in mild confusion, smiled a serene smile, and offered to make croissants.

“I was considering breaking into the old goat’s tomb and acquiring his wand,” Hayato said after they sat down to enjoy some tea while Tsuna busied himself with baking.

“So that some fanboy doesn’t steal it as a macabre souvenir?”

“Essentially.”

Tsuna shrugged. “Go for it, then. And that leaves Snape. The only thing I’ve come up with since our last talk on this is some bullshit excuse about how an oath to Dumbledore ultimately led to his death after the old goat died. Somehow.”

“Except for the part where there’s no evidence he made one,” Ken said. “Though, most people were clueless as to why the old goat trusted Snape so much, and might have come to the erroneous conclusion that an oath was involved.”

“He’s just a pathetic, bitter man,” Tsuna said. “He fancied himself in love with Lily Evans when it was truthfully more like a stalker obsession. What rational person would believe joining the Death Eaters, the very people who want to snuff out girls like her, would make an intelligent muggle-born be so impressed that they’d want to be with him?”

“Why don’t we just seal him?” Reborn said. “You told me the seals you placed on the Death Eaters in Azkaban saw them dead after a few weeks. As amusing as it is to come up with increasingly improbable ways to off the defect, simplicity is probably better in the end.”

Everyone exchanged looks and slumped.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Hayato said. “We should do it quick, then, so whoever takes over as headmaster or headmistress has time to find a replacement. Tonight, then? We can sneak onto the grounds and take care of the wand and Snape.”

The Mists nodded, and that was that.

“I take it you’ve not had any trouble with the zoo next door?” he asked Reborn.

Reborn shook his head. “Their eyes gloss right over me. Just as well, as I expect the giraffe would try to flirt with me otherwise, and no sane man should have to deal with that.”

Tsuna laughed merrily. “Shall I craft you a disguise of a plain man, Ki-san~?”

Reborn scowled at him. “As much as the very idea irritates me, I do wonder what will happen from here on. Once you’re all free of the magical world…”

Tsuna laughed again. “It will be interesting indeed to see the look on the local Reborn’s face when he sees you. We will have to lure him in and gain his trust, after all, in order to have his backing for when we spring the cure on everyone else. Shall I recreate Samsara and seduce him with my cooking?”

Reborn’s scowl intensified. “Your cooking would definitely capture his attention, Heul.”

“Ki-san is flirting with me again~!” he teased. “Don’t worry. You will always come first when it comes to dealing with any version of Renato Sinclair or Reborn. Which reminds me…” He frowned in thought.

“What name I should be using,” Reborn stated.

“We could just go with Ren again,” Mukuro said, “but ultimately it’s up to you. The local version always has first claim to the name ‘Reborn’. Or we could call you Sin.”

Tsuna chortled. “I kinda like that, actually.”

“I can live with being called Sin. I would also accept Clair, though it would draw attention to my French half, with an upside of it meaning ‘famous’ by some interpretations. Sinclair is given to mean pure, renowned, or illustrious, which is interesting if you consider Saint Clair of Assisi, an Italian saint and one of the…”

Reborn actually got through his lecture on history without anyone objecting or looking bored, and by the end of it they were aware of how some names with “saint” in them were slurred in a way, such as how St John could become Sinjin and St Clair could become Sinclair.

Anyone who could make history and etymology interesting and compelling was a teacher of great skill in Tsuna’s opinion.

Tsuna presented a fresh batch of croissants and sat down to enjoy the fruits of his labor.

That evening his Mists went off with Hayato to take care of a few loose ends and returned two hours later. Hayato presented him with Dumbledore’s wand, which he tossed into storage as a slightly more exalted stick than usual, but still just a stick.

“I wonder who will end up in charge of the school,” he said as he slid plates onto the table. A quick trip via _Between_ to Japan had provided all the ingredients he needed to make homemade ramen for his family, with dango for after.

By the time it was late enough to seek sleep, Tsuna became aware that Reborn—Sin—had been using his bedroom the whole time he’d been living there. He had been the only one with a bedroom to himself, as their leader, so it was only logical that Sin would be housed there.

It made him blush for some reason.

Maybe it was because there was only one bed in there? The room had changed from simply lived in to warm and inviting in a way that only a Sun could produce. Well, a Sun not bent on burning the life force out of you.

Sin acted like it was nothing out of the ordinary when he slipped into the bed, taking the right side, so Tsuna shrugged and got ready, and took the left side. Sin turned out to be an upgraded version of a cat, portable space heaters that they were, which made it a bit warmer than he’d like given it was July, but he fell asleep despite that, certain of his safety.

The next morning, after a bit of awkwardness on his part on waking up to another person in his bed, Tsuna set about slicing fruit to go with the croissants from the day before as breakfast. He noticed Sin had acquired an espresso maker at some point and installed it in the kitchen.

The Sun made himself some caffè latte which, as he learned from his time in Italy, was only drunk in the mornings, along with other milky versions.

Tsuna didn’t care; he still didn’t like the taste of coffee in general, and neither did the others.

He did care, however, for making things his family liked, and that included Sin. He pulled some books out of storage and started browsing, and finally found something he thought he could try, even if he would inevitably tinker with the proportions. The books got packed away again for the time being.

Lunch was cheeseburgers, chips, and a Thai salad.

“So, any news on the brothers three?” he asked.

Daemon shrugged. “The usual. Enrico is still playing the field, Massimo is starting to, and Federico is still the baby. This latest check has revealed that Enrico has a thing for blondes, so we can focus our efforts there better.”

Tsuna looked up. “There’s a part of me that wants to ask you to compel the idiot to keep it in his pants until he’s married, and to then always be faithful. If some poor woman is going to be a brood mare for the Vongola name, she should at least have the comfort of a faithful husband. Same for the others, once they’re old enough. I do trust you’re making sure he’s not…”

“Fathering bastards?” Mukuro said bluntly.

“Yeah. Vongola seems to think they’re above the mores of society for some reason. That much was proved when Teo-jiji brought in an alleged bastard son of his. If you can’t keep it in your pants, at least keep it covered. Or, you know, go for your own gender. Even the mafia hasn’t come up with a way for one man to impregnate another man.”

His Mists seemed particularly amused by that for some reason.

“What about Estraneo?”

Ken perked up and looked at Mukuro.

“They’ve just recently decided to start their experimentation ward,” Mukuro reported. “That being so, we can’t very well haunt them with the ghosts of their victims as with did with Lockhart.”

“They weren’t actually dead, though,” Chikusa pointed out.

“Details! The point is they are just gearing up and have yet to do anything worse than the average wrong-side-of-the-tracks famiglia.”

“You lot aren’t scheduled to be born for another four years,” he said. “But I remember you telling me about those Estraneo scientists, how their own faces were stitched up like they’d been experimented on. It reminds me of that one vault in Fallout 4.”

“The school?” Daemon said.

“Yeah. I don’t want to be the cause of the local yous not being born, but…”

“And neither do you want to engineer exactly who the local Tsuna harmonizes with.”

“Also yeah. It gets confusing at times, you know that. I so rarely show up early that this isn’t normally an issue. I don’t want you three locally to have to suffer that torture. Maybe investigate and see exactly which members of Estraneo are pushing for the experimentation, and off them? Leave more moderate people in charge? Or if one of the defects happens to be one of your parents…”

Mukuro laid a hand on his and said, “I will do some investigating this summer. Once we have a better picture of what’s happening, their plans, and so forth, then we can sit down again and hash out a plan of action. Part of the problem is that we don’t know who our parents are. Anything we do could prevent our births, and we need to be able to accept that before we make a move. Or we wait until the locals are a few years old and rescue them as per usual.”

Tsuna sighed. “All right. I’ll leave it with you three to start with.”

An owl flew in and dumped a _Daily Prophet_ on the table, then winged out.

Tsuna pulled the paper over—and why was it a paper using muggle-ish materials instead of the parchment used for everything else?—and noted that there was nothing much of interest for stories, just more idiocy regarding his victory in the Triwizard Tournament.

“Don’t they have better things to report on? Like, I don’t know, Lockhart finally going insane and offing himself because of the ghosts we anchored to him?” He sighed and pushed the paper away. “I need to go shopping. Who’s coming with?”

Sin was giving him a look he couldn’t interpret. It was intense, bordering on warm, but there was a quality to it he simply did not recognize.

“You know,” he said, “I never did ask before.”

As quick on the uptake as always, Sin said, “My experience with my local Tsuna?”

He hummed. “What went through your head when you first saw him?”

Sin smirked. “It was a good thing I was in hiding at the time, because I’m afraid to say I gawked like a newbie on first seeing flames in action.”

Tsuna smiled softly. “I was a messed up kid.”

“Yes, but you know damn well that’s not why I gawked. Why didn’t you use a disguise when you set up Samsara? You were in the heart of Italy. Any one of those idiots could have seen you, seen the startling resemblance to Giotto, and flipped out, thinking you were a child from some unknown bastard offspring.”

Tsuna shrugged. “Daemon was perfectly willing to fuck with people’s heads if need be. I have the Heul disguise, but I always feel more comfortable with my original appearance. How did you treat him? He seemed very—well, almost gutted. When you said good-bye.”

Sin pursed his lips. “He looked too much like you, Heul. I couldn’t bear to be my usual trollish asshole self, not looking at those big brown eyes, that ridiculously fluffy hair, and all that innocence. I won’t say I was nice, but I did go easier on him than I ever did on Dino. I sometimes think I might have taken out my anger on the kid, after what Don Timoteo told me about the seal, if I hadn't already met you. It would have felt like a betrayal of you to do so.”

“We know how to place them now, but removing them…”

“Yeah, the only thing so far are the bullets,” Sin said, frowning. “Can you reverse engineer the seal? Find a bunch of defects, seal them, paying especial attention when you do so, and then trying to reverse it? Unfortunately I have not been able to figure out the bullets.”

Tsuna frowned. “You know? In all this time I have yet to learn anything about those bullets. And I distinctly recall at least one famiglia got their hands on some and tinkered with them, or figured out how to make something similar. Huh. Maybe I’ll do a bit of digging. I’ll have to ask one of my Mists to poke around in Teo-jiji’s brains, though.”

“It would be unfortunate if his brains liquified,” Sin said, smiling innocently.

He wrinkled his nose. “Probably. But on the other hand… No, that wouldn’t work, not without one of them rewiring Enrico’s mind so that he’s no longer a strutting peacock with more arrogance than brains. Besides, I only went psycho that one time and wiped out family members. Maybe haunt Teo-jiji with the ghost of his mother?”

“What, have Daniella harangue him at every opportunity, every time he does yet another monumentally stupid thing?” Sin suggested.

Tsuna brightened with malicious glee. “Yes! Maybe we can save one Teo-jiji from his own stupidity, even only if it’s because he’s terrified of his mama. Yeah, let’s do it! I have three Mists who are sadistic assholes when they want to be—”

“Which is frequently,” Sin interjected quietly.

“—and I think they’d be thrilled with the assignment!” he finished, pretending he hadn't heard that. He resolved to bring it up at dinner, then changed the subject. “We’ve been to Disney World, but I found out there are parks here, too, just not as big. What do you think of us all going to Thorpe Park and having fun on all the roller coasters?”

Sin smiled toothily. “Only if I get to sit next to you each time.”

He blinked, unaware that he was blushing. A tiny, quiet, nearly inaudible voice in the back of his mind was chanting, “Ki-san is flirting with me~!” over and over. “Sure!”

“Let’s go watch a movie,” Sin suggested, and somehow, it just wasn’t a surprise to Tsuna when Sin insisted on sitting right next to him the entire time, brushing his hand every time the man went to get more popcorn from the bucket Tsuna had ended up being the one to hold.

That evening he worked on dinner, letting Sin be the one to bring up the haunting idea, and his family exploded in mirth. His Mists promptly set to squabbling over who got to be the one to haunt the aging don and settled it with a game of jan-ken, with Xeul coming out as the victor.

Tsuna slid plates onto the table with Ken’s help. “There is one other issue,” he said as he took a seat. “Sin and I were talking and the subject of the seal Teo-jiji uses came up, as well as those Dying Will Bullets. I don’t see why you guys can’t get information on those. I mean, who knows, that might help us in the future.”

“There might come a time when we arrive after the local Tsuna turns five,” Chikusa said, “in which case, definitely. I have to wonder if those bullets could be tweaked and used to show what latent flames a person has, though I’m not seeing a situation offhand where that would be useful.”

“Well, while Xeul is hashing out his game plan for the haunting, Daemon and Mukuro can duke it out for the other information, or tag-team and poke around for anything else of interest while you’re there. Also,” he said, “I would like to go have some fun at Thorpe Park, so we need to fit that in somewhere. And I promise to do my best not to get spooked and use Earth Flames to fuck up the whole park.”

No one talked about that incident at Universal Studios. No one.

“Great!” he enthused when not one of them foolishly tempted fate. Or his generally squashed-in-a-dark-place temper.

The first time Sin called him “tesoro” was when he presented the Sun with a cup of coffee based on a little something called caffè d’un parrinu, an Arabic-inspired coffee flavored with cloves, cinnamon, and cocoa.

Tsuna wasn’t quite sure how he felt about being called, essentially, “treasure”, but he was pleased that Sin appreciated his efforts. Sin was sunshine personified after a sip of that cup of coffee and his mood was infectious. He also developed a habit of slinging an arm around Tsuna’s shoulders and pulling him close.

Tsuna was starting to get the idea that his offering of flavored coffee had been taken as a declaration of love. Of the romantic kind, rather than platonic.

Was he reading into things too weirdly? Seeing stuff that wasn’t there? Curse his fifteen-year-old-going-through-puberty body!

Every cup of that special coffee he made would be a ticking time bomb. What the results of the explosion would be… Tsuna perked up. Might he finally get rid of that awkward virgin status? If a veela chick, who had almost the entirety of the male population at Hogwarts panting like puppies after a picosecond in her vicinity, hadn't made a dent in his own libido, was it not entirely possible that he was gay? Or at least Reborn-sexual?

‘I just know I can get a pun out of this somehow,’ he thought, eyeing Sin as he stared at his now empty cup with a weird tangle of wistfulness and bliss. ‘Sin-sational? Sin-sexual?’ He shook his head lightly. The first one was closer to a pun.

He shrank back slightly when Sin fixed hungry eyes on him and displayed a smile full of glinting, sharp teeth.

“So,” he said loudly, suddenly feeling like prey, “let’s talk about that trip to Thorpe Park!”

Sin danced attendance on him the entire trip, making sure he always had a drink when he was thirsty, something to nibble on, and always sat at his side. It made the roller coaster rides even more exciting than advertised, being close to an apex predator who gave every indication of wanting to consume him.

He knew he was in for it eventually when, as they were about to plunge down the initial, nearly vertical slope of the most hair-raising roller coaster the place had to offer, Sin whispered in his ear, “Not to worry, tesoro. I won’t even consider making you mine properly until after your body has turned sixteen.”

And then they were headed straight down.

“How goes Operation Scare the Stupidity Out of Teo-Jiji?”

“You are never being allowed to make up mission names again,” Daemon said with a scowl. “That was pathetic.”

Xeul rolled his eyes and went to speak, but was distracted when an owl swooped in, dumped off a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ , and winged back out. “Oh. Pettigrew is finally going to be on trial.”

“About damn time,” he said. “Full Wizengamot, too, public trial. Awesome, except for the part where Black may decide to move back to England and become a thorn in my side. Shall we all file in as witnesses to this event or just open a few windows?”

Ken grimaced. “I’d rather view it remotely. The stench of idiocy is bad enough all year at the school, and those are just kids. To be at a trial with who knows how many adults…?”

The rest of his family agreed, his Mists chiming in to say, “We can always do a bit of remote mind-fuckery if necessary. Fudge might try to skew the results, and that can’t be allowed.”

“Awesome,” he said. “Tomorrow we will witness our government actually doing things correctly, even if we have to force them into it. Keep an eye out for anyone on the Wizengamot being dicks, so we can visit their brains later and find out what other sort of bullshit they’ve been shoveling.”

“Don’t you mean hippogriff shit?”

“No, I refuse to be drawn into using Merlin and hippogriff shit and kami knows what other magical-slanted terms when we already have plenty of useful ones to choose from.”

“Getting back to Teo-jiji,” Xeul said firmly. “After rummaging around in the man’s head for a while to get a good feel for how Daniella impressed herself upon his memory, I have a good idea of how to proceed with the haunting. It may take a while for the message to sink in, however, as he seems to be particularly stubborn in the idea that his plans are flawless, and therefore need not heed any counsel but his own.”

Tsuna rolled his eyes. “He’s starting to remind me of the old goat.”

Xeul nodded. “There are distinct similarities. As I said, he’s stubborn, so I might seem a bit distant at times, possibly throughout this coming school year or longer. Obviously, I could just rewire him, but that would fail to offer lasting amusement of the ‘let’s have a pensieve night’ variety.”

Sin smirked. “Blackmail is always a lovely thing to have. Can you take photographs inside one of those things?”

“Eh… No. Not unless there’s a type of pensieve that allows your whole body to go in. When you watched that memory of the Yule Ball, your mind was inside, but the rest of you just sat there unmoving. Hm. Something to look into. Maybe that’s why pensieve memories aren’t allowed as evidence in court?”

“Maybe since we have continued to fail when it comes to getting those damn laptops to work,” Hayato said, “we could switch focus for a while and fuck with pensieves instead? We could always try _requiring_ something on how to craft them once we’re back at Hogwarts. It’s not like we’re actually learning anything at that school.”

Considering that after several months of utter boredom his Mists had taken it upon themselves to break into every professors offices and make copies of all planned homework assignments, simply so they could just get them done ahead of time and move on to more interesting things…

“Add it to the list.”

The next morning after breakfast they assembled in the sitting room to watch the big-screen version of a window. Smaller ones were opened along either side, to be used to focus on individuals.

Madame Amelia Bones, head of the DMLE, had Pettigrew in the chair and chained in place in no time flat. She asked for and won the right to use veritaserum on the rat on the grounds of “dead men have no rights”. It took hours (lunch was served right there in the courtroom) for them to decide it was time to call for a vote (the only reason Tsuna could figure that was because some of them—the ones now occupying the side windows—were trying their best to delay things in the hopes they could indulge in some old-fashioned back-room dealings involving bribery, threats, blackmail, or extortion), and in the end Pettigrew was sentenced to the Veil.

On a side note, Sirius Black was declared exonerated of all charges (Bones had been kind enough to sweep all archives looking for trial transcripts, as she had not been in charge during the war, and came up with a big fat zero) and a press release would go out to the media post haste.

“Yeah, we’ll be waiting for the _Daily Prophet_ to report this before we bother writing to Black,” he murmured. “Technically he is this body’s magical guardian due to that whole godfather thing, but kami knows I don’t want him mucking around thinking he has the maturity to handle it.”

Mukuro smiled creepily.

“Speaking of maturity, I wonder how Enrico would react if Daniella’s ghost were to pop up every time he wanted some action?”

Xeul cackled in delight. “That’d teach him to keep it in his pants until after he’s married!”

“Still, it would mean tying up a Mist for who knows how long,” he said. “Can we anchor the haunt into his psyche, rather like how Lockhart was handled? We’re talking about a fairly simple condition, not like what would be necessary for Teo-jiji.”

“Let me get the whole thing down with Teo-jiji, then I’ll use that to implant something like a living nightmare in Enrico’s head, triggered by that specific impulse or action.”

Tsuna nodded and hoped that their plan actually bore fruit that didn’t end up being rotten inside.

A copy of the _Daily Prophet_ had been sent along to Black with a note stating simply that he’d been exonerated. The spy sent along with the owl doing the delivery had only lasted perhaps half the journey, so they were not in a position to use remote mind-fuckery to ensure Black stayed in his little tropical paradise, and hoped the note would not bring the man running back to Britain.

The calendar flipped over from July to August and with it, during the evening of the second, brought calamity—or it would have been if not for experienced and tricksy bastards and a leader who possessed Hyper Intuition.

Tsuna felt a faint sense of unease as the sun went down and said, “Something is coming. Soon. Within the hour.”

“Deadly?” Ken asked.

“I’m thinking so,” he said absently, straining to understand what his intuition was telling him. “I am reminded of … third year. Dementors?” He glanced out the window and saw that it was getting a bit foggy out there, which was odd considering they were experiencing a heat wave. “For that to be happening the temperature has to have gone down rapidly, and that makes little sense.”

“Someone in the Ministry has it out for you?” Sin asked in an oddly hesitant manner. “Your street cred has gone back up after the tournament concluded, after a year of disdain, or worse.”

“And prior that that you’ve been almost a non-entity,” Daemon said. “Winning the tournament has made liking you fashionable again. Perhaps it’s an official who is now worried it will make you more popular than the minister?”

“I hate politics,” he muttered. “We aren’t under the Trace and we have foreign wands we can use, or go wandless, but I expect that the Ministry is watching this area closely for any signs of magic, so I’ll get blamed no matter what if any is detected.”

“So we either sit tight behind our protections and wait for the fallout, or we act and possibly get hauled into court, because this is starting to feel like a clever plan to discredit you,” Mukuro said. “Dementors move at the direction of the ministry. They already have a sweet deal at Azkaban. Someone promising them additional souls…”

“Against people who have no way to defend themselves,” Chikusa stated.

“The Bounding Box will keep them away from us. I could make a larger one to push them out of the area, but that won’t save other people in other areas. Even using the Patronus Charm would only see them driven away from here. In all likelihood, people are going to get their souls sucked out, assuming they’ll even go after non-magicals. If not, we’re the only ones in danger, and we’re protected.”

“A box that large would strain you greatly,” Hayato objected with a scowl. “A test, then? We step over to the Hogsmeade house. If they were sent to this location, they won’t follow. If they were sent after you specifically, you’ll be in a magical area and we’re free to defend, with a plus of a whole lot of people becoming aware there are dementors on the loose.”

“And possibly get Kissed,” Xeul said, “since most people are incapable of casting a Patronus Charm. Step into the Ministry itself and stay hidden? We’re not _that_ far from London, so…”

“The people on duty at night are mostly aurors, obliviators, the bunch in charge of handling accidental magic reversal…” Tsuna nodded. “Right, let’s step over to the Ministry, then.”

After a bit of shuffling (Tsuna was not surprised he was the one to drag Sin through _Between_ ) they were situated in the atrium on level eight, protected by a temporary Bounding Box. A sleepy-looking fellow was manning the security desk at the far end of the cavernous room, going through a cycle of slowly falling asleep, then jerking back upright after a short snore and looking around blearily.

Within an hour two dementors arrived (did they get in through the owl windows, Tsuna wondered), which caused the fellow on duty to shriek, piss himself, and slam his hand down on a button on his desk. Alarms went off as the man fled through a door, slamming it closed behind him.

It took a few minutes, but on-duty aurors raced into the atrium, paused on seeing the dementors, then hastened to contain them (though one unfortunate soul fainted dead away and was of no use whatsoever).

“Let’s go,” Tsuna said quietly.

Unsurprisingly, there was nothing in the paper the next day, or any other day.

“Clearly someone high up,” Sin opined, “someone with the power to gag the press, or ensure it never made it out of the Ministry to begin with. While I do wonder how they fared against those horrors, I must also believe that anyone who went into auror training should not have been cleared for active duty if they weren’t capable of casting the Patronus Charm.”

“We did our best to protect the civilians,” he said. “If any of those aurors were Kissed, that should be a blazing neon sign that the department needs a good shake up and retraining.”

Letters arrived on the eleventh and, strangely, did not contain anything by way of a book for Defense. The cover letter was signed by Headmistress McGonagall, so at least one question had been answered. Tsuna wondered if she would be handling both that and teaching Transfiguration, and also wondered who would take on the role of Deputy.

Also of interest were the books for Potions, ones that detailed reactions and other information that _should_ be considered basic knowledge for the art, but had never before been required. Then again, Snape had been abysmal at passing on his own, acknowledged expertise. The last person to hold the position, Horace Slughorn, had been a jovial fat spider and quite decent at teaching. He was also very skilled at his craft.

Hopefully the additional books on the list meant a competent instructor would be handling that class.

The article about Snape’s fate had been tiny and tucked in between advertisements for various beauty potions, which was a backhanded slam at an already dead man. Also, amusing.

Supplies for the year were obtained and all that was left was the train ride.


	7. λ15: 07: 1995-1998

## λ15  
07: 1995-1998

Two days prior to the Hogwarts Express was an article in the _Daily Prophet_ stating that the Ministry had enacted Educational Decree № 22.

“Oh, brilliant,” he said dryly. “We’re going to be saddled with a Ministry toad, I expect.” He had no idea how _true_ that statement was.

“Another person to keep an eye on,” Mukuro said carelessly. “Hopefully most of the adult idiots are out of the picture, barring Binns, so it shouldn’t be much of a burden.”

The train ride itself was the usual bore leavened only by the increasingly ridiculous theories put forth as to why a particular character committed murder during games of Cluedo, and they filed into the Great Hall after a carriage ride to see—

“A toad?” he muttered.

She was more than pleasingly plump. The woman was squat, like a rounded off cube, with a face like a toad and a mouth designed for catching flies from a scarily-wide smile that would look more at home on a Cheshire cat. Her eyes bulged unpleasantly, she oozed condescension from all the way up at the head table, and her pink ensemble was fooling none of them.

“I have the sudden urge to play Whack-a-Mole,” Chikusa commented quietly.

Announcements were left until after the feast and McGonagall only got partway through them (Flitwick was named Deputy, though they assumed that after seeing him be the one to handle the Sorting Hat) when the toad cleared her throat obnoxiously several times and stood up (which did not result in much added height).

“Thank you, Headmistress,” Umbridge simpered, “for those kind words of welcome.”

Tsuna rather thought she sounded like one of those foolish little girls who thought a pleasingly feminine demeanor would see boys from miles around racing to come to their assistance or defense. It was high-pitched and breathy and she was no Marilyn Monroe to pull off a voice like that without jarring everyone in the vicinity with the dichotomy between sound and sight.

Umbridge cleared her throat, again, and continued, “Well, it is lovely to be back at Hogwarts, I must say!” She smiled, revealing very pointed teeth. “And to see such happy little faces looking back at me! I am very much looking forward to getting to know you all, and I’m sure we’ll be very good friends!”

“She sounds like a closet pedo,” Ken growled lowly.

Umbridge cleared her throat again, but when she continued, some of the breathiness had vanished from her voice. She sounded much more businesslike and now her words had a dull learned-by-heart sound to them.

“The Ministry of Magic has always considered the education of young witches and wizards to be of vital importance. The rare gifts with which you were born may come to nothing if not nurtured and honed by careful instruction. The ancient skills unique to the wizarding community must be passed down through the generations lest we lose them forever. The treasure trove of magical knowledge amassed by our ancestors must be guarded, replenished, and polished by those who have been called to the noble profession of teaching.”

Umbridge paused here and made a little bow to her fellow staff members, none of whom bowed back. McGonagall’s dark eyebrows had contracted so that she looked positively hawklike, and Tsuna distinctly saw her exchange a significant glance with Professor Sprout as Umbridge cleared her throat yet again and went on with her speech.

“Every headmaster and headmistress of Hogwarts has brought something new to the weighty task of governing this historic school, and that is as it should be, for without progress there will be stagnation and decay. There again, progress for progress’s sake must be discouraged, for our tried and tested traditions often require no tinkering. A balance, then, between old and new, between permanence and change, between tradition and innovation…”

Tsuna did his best not to zone out as he often did, but instead took note of the reactions of the students to the almost mechanically-delivered speech. There was a lot of huddling, giggling, and whispering going on, not to mention any number of Ravenclaws sporting books, magazines, or papers to read.

Umbridge did not seem to notice the restlessness of her audience. The teachers, however, were still listening with every indication of attentiveness. If their eyes were a bit glassy, well…

“…because some changes will be for the better, while others will come, in the fullness of time, to be recognized as errors of judgment. Meanwhile, some old habits will be retained, and rightly so, whereas others, outmoded and outworn, must be abandoned. Let us move forward, then, into a new era of openness, effectiveness, and accountability, intent on preserving what ought to be preserved, perfecting what needs to be perfected, and pruning wherever we find practices that ought to be prohibited.”

She sat down.

McGonagall stood at that point, clapped her hands twice in a mockery of applause, then said, “Thank you very much, Professor Umbridge, that was most illuminating. Now—as I was saying, quidditch tryouts will be held…”

“So how long before we arrange an accident, you think?” Ken asked.

“Working on it,” Mukuro said. “I’ve trailed her to her quarters and will make a visit shortly. Once she’s settled in. I can tell you right now the Defense classroom and her suite are a travesty of pink and kittens. But thankfully, not pink kittens.”

Tsuna shuddered. He had nothing against the colour pink—or most any colour, really, though some were less liked than others and some brought to mind awful things—but it was starting to sound like they were going to be surrounded by it. Judging by the colour of the toad’s ensemble, it’d be like sitting inside an inverted bottle of Pepto Bismol.

An hour later Mukuro was back, scowling.

“Not good news, I take it,” he said blandly, and got a fiercer scowl for his trouble. Tsuna opened a window to № 6 so Sin could join in on the discussion.

“The toad bitch is the one who sent those dementors,” Mukuro snarled. “She’s here for several reasons. One, to keep an eye on you and do what she can to squash any bit of popularity—if possible, make you out to be delusional or something because of that AK to the head your body took as a child—and to repress anything resembling the learning of Defense. You know, so those of impure blood don’t get uppity and start a revolt or something.”

“All right, then,” he said. “Vote?”

“Motion carried,” Daemon said, bypassing the vote as expected.

Tsuna knew his family would all vote to off the defect, but he preferred to leave it open so that any one of them could object, should they be so inclined. “Oh, just so Sin can see what we’re talking about, will you open a window to Umbridge, Mukuro?”

Mukuro did so, and Tsuna got to see his … boyfriend? … shudder in disgust. No amount of mafia rules or a suave ladies man persona could protect against seeing that woman. At least Sin wasn’t right there in person. (Leon, on the other hand, looked hungry.)

“So, suggestions as to how the toad dies a tragic death?”

“She slips on some lard at the top of a staircase and breaks her neck on the way down?” Ken offered.

“We send a massive, horny toad illusion after her and she runs screaming into the forest to be captured by centaurs and used as their bitch?”

A collective shudder ran through the room. (Leon continued to look hungry until Mukuro absently dismissed the window.)

“Smother her in honey and flies? Fill her lungs to overflowing with a syrupy pink liquid?”

“Lob her into Hagrid’s pen of Blast-Ended Skrewts?”

“I’d say drop her into an active volcano, but we don’t have an eye on any.”

“Did I mention she has a set of blood quills she plans to use for detentions?” Mukuro said calmly.

“Burn her at the stake!” Ken cried. “Or, you know, dump her into the acromantula colony to be sucked dry.”

“Oo,” Tsuna said. “That would also mostly take care of any evidence. And since we’re not going to be learning anything anyway, the time it takes for them to assign a new teacher…”

“It would upset Hagrid to no end if the Ministry figured out how the toad died, because presumably they’d order those spiders wiped out or moved elsewhere, but they are a danger to the school, and to the natural, non-human-eating denizens of the forest.”

“So, shall I mosey on over there and get her to write a quasi-suicide note with one of her blood quills before dropping her off?” Mukuro asked. “I was thinking of having her write something like: I regret that I have but one life to give for my Ministry…”

“And then everyone might think she went off on an acromantula-killing mission like some hero and died gloriously, or some such rot.”

“They’re going to question what she was doing there no matter what if they track down the body.”

Tsuna bit his lip and considered. “Leaving that note would make her look insanely stupid to anyone with half a brain left, so… Sure.”

“Excellent!” Mukuro said happily. “I will need a twin to handle the compulsion part.”

Xeul raised a hand.

Umbridge was conspicuously absent at the head table the next morning, which people were surprisingly blasé about. Clearly, they all possessed enough brain cells to dislike the toad-woman and were probably pleased to not have to deal with her.

Unfortunately, after one too many students appeared to bother McGonagall in her classroom, a search was made. The note was dutifully handed over to the DMLE and Bones had an auror squad sent over to conduct a more thorough search.

They never did find her body.

They did find the quills, however, and confiscated them, then sent over a recovering auror to take over the class.

The rest of the year went smoothly, and students eventually stopped trying to get close to Harry Potter, Triwizard Champion, as Tsuna’s localized Bounding Box was still in effect pushing them away.

OWL exams were a thing to fear for many students—witness Granger’s near breakdown and screaming fits when her fellow fifth years refused to adhere to her rigid revision schedule, or Weasley, Ronald’s panicked attempts to actually read the material before throwing his hands up in frustration and settling for another game of chess, only to panic again at the thought of what his mother might have to say about his scores—but for Samsara it was business as usual.

“I will be happy when we can finally fake our deaths and go build a new Samsara,” Tsuna said at № 6. “That’s something I understand, can relax into. It was…”

“The happiest of your lives prior to the eleventh?” Sin said.

Tsuna looked at him, into those normally cold, dark eyes that were at times like an abyss to Hell, and nodded. “You made me happy.” He swallowed and looked away.

Sin stepped closer. “I pray—not that I often pray—that the powers that be see fit to send me with you next time, seeing as how I was brought here.”

“I do, too,” he said softly.

Sin leaned in and kissed the corner of his mouth. “Too bad your body is still too young,” he teased, then stepped back.

He blushed. Of _course_. After coughing he said, “Well, Samsara would be a way to draw in your counterpart and start to gain his trust. Though, again, him seeing you… Good for blackmail material, perhaps?”

Sin laughed. “Depends on how hardened he is, but perhaps. We’ll just have to have cameras ready, concealed and waiting, for just that moment. I and the Reborn of λ10 adore those brownies and the cake, so perhaps we can start with those? I don’t think you should offer that coffee, though. He might fall for you, too, and I refuse to share.”

“Ki-san is flirting with me again,” he said softly, a faint smile on his face.

“You _will_ be using that serene smile on him, right? That ticked me off something fierce until I got used to it. You and Fon—damn but was annoying.”

Tsuna grinned. “That was why I did it~!” he caroled. “The way your eye would twitch—!” He laughed merrily.

“Yeah, yeah, you finally got one over on Reborn.”

“I got a Reborn—you—to admit you liked me~! Best day of my life!”

Sin smirked lazily. “Oh, I think you’ll find soon enough that there’s an even better one coming.”

He felt his face heat up again. “Damn it! Stop trying to make me blush!”

Sin kept on smirking, in victory. “Say, how many antiques do you have left? Do we need to acquire more?”

“Uh… I suppose we could go through my inventory, but I have a habit of liberating goods from defects, so… And I still have all that depression glass Lal never got to buy. The quilts you brought in. But more is always good. I’m trying to think of what I picked up in the last few lives and what I could have but didn’t. Speaking of that, though, do you have any suggestions as to where? Because I’m thinking Rome won’t cut it this time.”

Sin grabbed his hand and pulled him to a seat. “At this time…? Pavia, perhaps. Shamal got his medical degree there, and I would occasionally go visit, laugh at his female troubles, get caught up. Even if we didn’t snag Reborn right away, there’s a damn good chance we’d get Shamal, and through him… Well, he does like to brag.”

“And we could conceivably lead him straight to the place,” he said. “We haven’t met a Mist yet who could tell when one of mine are rummaging in their heads, or doing a bit of mind-fuckery. Shamal shouldn’t be a problem. Hell, _I_ managed to fool a version of _you_ one time, and you’ve always been practically immune to Mist illusions.”

Sin scowled. “Maybe after a few rounds that won’t be as much of a weakness. Because really? We don’t know how strong Fashion-Challenged is, or how many rounds it would take to be able to overcome him.”

“Ugh.” Just the thought of it made Tsuna tired. Thankfully they had never had to try to pull one over on the … well, not human, not if what that one version of the man had said rang with truth rather than the almost inborn deception of a Mist. “Hopefully we will never need to know, but I admit it’s crossed my mind once or twice, just how augmented our souls would need to be to equal or even surpass that man. If nothing else, while Mist was never a primary, I’ve been around the block enough times that it’s hard to trick me with it, unless maybe when I’m super focused.”

“I still can’t believe I never once caught on to you being a Sky—well, until I met the local you,” Sin said, chagrined and shaking his head.

Tsuna laughed. “And Daemon thought I was being too obvious with the colours I wore.”

Sin leered at him. “I look forward to seeing you dressed in yukata again, Heul. You have the right body for them, lean and not so tall that they mess with the proportions.”

“You and your maths~!”

The sound of the front door opening broke apart their shared gaze.

“We have pizza!” Daemon called out.

Xeul smiled brightly, his teeth glinting in a vaguely menacing way. “Enrico has finally learned that he’s not going to get any action whatsoever until he gets married, so he’s started looking for a wife. Teo-jiji thinks he’s too young, of _course_ , but Enrico has had such a case of blue balls for months and he’s just dying to take care of that.”

“Teo-jiji can still make time to disapprove even with his own haunting?” Tsuna asked.

“He’s proven rather resistant,” Xeul replied. “He’s quite thick-headed. I might have to add in some special effects to amp things up. It’s rather like watching a Weasley twin blithely ignoring one of their mother’s howlers. All selective deafness and trying not to make his guardians think he’s gone mental. We can have a huddle later to discuss possible additions to the current haunting.”

Tsuna nodded and gestured at Sin.

“After giving it some thought I’ve come to the conclusion that the best place to draw the local Reborn in is if we set up Samsara in Pavia. Trident Shamal is there getting his medical degree, and he should be an in, assuming the two are friendly in this dimension.”

Daemon raised a hand briefly, his way of saying he’d look into it.

“Once there, we either get lucky and one of them comes in coincidentally or by hearing gossip around town, or we lead Shamal there without him knowing, and encourage him to gush about the food and wares to Reborn.”

“I’ll check on Shamal as soon as possible,” Daemon said. “We’re going to need time to get a new Samsara kitted out, so if they don’t follow the usual pattern, we’ll have to pick some place closer to wherever Reborn is and set up there. Or…” He paused to purse his lips. “Come up with a hit he would want to take on and lure him in with that long enough to get a spy on him.”

Sin looked distant, his focus turned inward. “I was freelance for a long time before Vongola put out feelers. Teo-jiji dangled a very attractive offer in front of me, still with a clear out in case I or they found it to be unworkable. There was enough leeway that I never felt collared. But now, after everything I’ve learned? I would spare my other self that particular deal with the devil. I could see having stayed with Cavallone. Dino was fun to torture, but in the end he’s a good kid—a good man. Decimo was, too, but if that could have been avoided…”

Tsuna suddenly laughed. “Can you imagine setting up the local Tsuna with an in-depth working knowledge of Ancient Runes? Putting together constructs that no other famiglia could match? He could start something outside Vongola, and even if he did end up as Decimo, he would have something, a different direction, more than just glittering smiles and charm and velvet over steel hands. Of course, that also depends on getting the local Daemon to agree not to be an utter dick.”

Daemon and Xeul shook their heads. “He’ll listen to reason or we’ll absorb him.”

Endless hours of research, revision, tinkering, revision, and yet more tinkering had come up with a way to power a laptop. Finally. The initial charge came from magic or flames, either was fine. The very heat generated by the laptop was captured by a rune-set, converted, and plowed back in to help keep the charge. Energy was energy. Anything excess was captured and converted, shoved into runic batteries.

Micro-engraving made it possible to sneak runes into the unlikeliest of places, rendering the chances of someone reverse engineering the work far lower. If they could teach the local Tsuna it could turn into something wonderful. The only downside was that there were always spies, always people looking to steal, and without something like true loyalty… And even then, anyone could be broken, it just took longer for some.

If they could make the runes small enough to hide them in otherwise decorative markings, the likelihood of someone figuring it out would drop even further.

“I don’t suppose you know how to fly a plane, Sin?”

Sin looked startled for a moment, then shook his head. “For the tragic accident, I assume.”

“Yeah. Hm.”

“I think … convince the pilot that something has gone horribly wrong, such as an explosion in the main cabin, and he uses one of the emergency parachutes…?”

“We could swing that,” Mukuro said, exchanging a look with the twins. “Or, well… We make the airport think one of us is the pilot, but we do have a real one, just we indulge in a bit of mind-fuckery and step him out to a safe place after pointing the plane at the ocean. That way there’s no mayday and they’d have a much larger area to search if they were so inclined. The pilot would only lose a few hours, and that could be accounted for by him falling asleep while reading…? Something.”

“We have a month before our letters are due to arrive,” said Ken. “Why don’t we step out to Italy and do some poking around? At least get some questions answered and scope out any likely properties, there or elsewhere, depending.”

“Sounds good. Let’s pack up for a stay.”

Shamal was tracked down, mostly by Sin (who was wearing a disguise, just as Tsuna and the twins were), and his brain rummaged through. He was a sort-of friend to Reborn in this dimension, which was good, and they kept in semi-regular contact, with Reborn occasionally wandering into town to share a meal and the odd story before the hitman wandered back out.

Shamal was as much a sucker for good food as he was a pretty girl, so the odds were in their favor. And even if they weren’t, they were three strong at meddling with people’s brains so delicately that a target would never suspect they’d been altered.

With that established they started looking for a property, preferably a place that Shamal would pass by on a regular basis, and could manage to hold both the bakery section, the “old things” section, plus housing for them all. Or, rather, a one bedroom apartment with a decent kitchen (not always the easiest thing to find in Europe). Tents were just expanded spaces, so there was nothing stopping them from obtaining or creating a trunk of the same nature, with enough bedrooms for all of them.

It was, after all, far more difficult to find decent housing for a family of eight than it was for two.

The found a corner location that looked like it would work and visited briefly, mostly to be able to drop spies and have a place to start from with windows that night, then left and continued meandering down the street. The older section of town was, well, older, and the buildings were far too cramped to be of much use for Samsara. It was all very picturesque, though.

That night, close to midnight, a window was opened to the property in question and maneuvered around, up the back staircase, and into the sitting room of the attached apartment. The kitchen was doable, though a bit of spiffing up wouldn’t hurt (they would be there for close to five years) and the sitting room could fit them all (though it looked to be a bit cramped with eight people relaxing in it), though it was more likely that his family would be lounging down in the shop area just to have more space.

(The bedroom trunk would need bathrooms, too. Shuffling eight people through one bathroom was just asking for fights to break out on a daily basis.)

Downstairs, the shop would need quite a lot of work. Another trunk could be used for inventory storage, which would save on a lot of space. Rough in a somewhat bigger kitchen, have a little care when displaying “old things” for sale, and plenty of room would be left over for bakery cases and seating.

“I think it’ll work,” he said.

“It won’t have quite the same charm as the original Samsara,” Sin said.

“No, but… I was thinking of mismatched furniture. An eclectic harmony of sorts. So many places are obsessed with everything matching just so and…” He shrugged.

“I would say to use space expansion charms, but people might get suspicious and we’d have to undo it all in the end,” Hayato said. “A couple of trunks should do it, one for inventory and one for the bedrooms and such we’ll need.”

Tsuna nodded. “Basically what I was thinking. The only other option is to buy a house in the city and walk or step back and forth. We could just keep the apartment upstairs as a shift station or whatever.”

Chikusa frowned. “I don’t much care for the idea of separating our work place and home space. It would mean two bounding boxes. Anchored, true, but still. It’s not like we’d all always be right there in the shop at all times.”

“We’ve been living in a dorm room for years now,” Ken pointed out. “A bit cramped, sure… It would be different, somehow, once we’re in Namimori. The houses might not be huge, but if we could get two houses side by side, something like that.”

Tsuna tried to think back to his birth place and if there were any large homes there aside from the Hibari mansion. There were a couple, if he was remembering right, though they were not exactly close to where the Sawada family lived. “Maybe… Maybe if we were there at the right time, we could influence which house the Tsow buys for his adorable wife, something a hell of a lot closer to one of the few large homes I can remember in Namimori. I’m fairly certain that I was born not more than a year after they got married, so we could meddle there. It’d mean purchasing one of those houses early, and quite probably the house we want them to have, so we can conveniently sell it to the Tsow.”

“Incidentally making some money off him,” Daemon said, smirking.

“That would be something of a bonus,” he said. “All right. Next summer we’ll go to Japan and figure out what we’re going to buy, how much we’ll need. Then once we’ve faked our deaths we can get the new Samsara started. In 1999 we can purchase the properties in Namimori to be ready for when the Tsow is looking for a place. We can always take a holiday at around the right time, or some of us, so long as one Mist stays with me as backup.”

His twins immediately smiled angelically and said, “We’ll take care of it.”

“So we’re agreed on this place? Or do you guys want to poke around a few more places?”

Everyone shrugged.

“Okay. We can get started on convincing them to sell tomorrow. Then we can look into trunks or make our own this year.”

Their sixth year was, if possible, even more boring than usual. The Slytherins were mostly behaving, the Ravenclaws had their noses buried in their books, the Hufflepuffs were still part of the cult, and Gryffindor vacillated between taking stupid bets, ditching homework for leisure activities, and being lectured by Granger for not taking their education seriously. The NEWTs were less than two years away!

Somewhere in there Massimo was given his own deep-seated haunting compulsion, just in case. Enrico was getting serious with a rather meek and mild blonde girl his age from a minor famiglia and expected to ask her to marry him soon, despite Timoteo stating he thought his boy was too young for such things.

“Considering Timoteo didn’t get married until he was nearly thirty…” Xeul said. “Like anyone believes he kept it in his pants for over a decade like a good Catholic. Especially not after bringing in his alleged bastard son.”

“Should we do anything about that?” Ken asked. “He won’t be brought in until… He was eight, I think? So 1999.”

Daemon got a weird look on his face. “I believe our dear Sky would object on the grounds that Xanxus would be missing out on a lot of ‘valuable personal growth time’.”

Tsuna shot his best friend a sarcastic smile. “Bite me, darling Yeul. But yes, I would object. One of the things that helped shape Xanxus was coming back from being iced and seeing that his people kept the Varia together in his absence. If we try to interfere early, what would we do? His mother practically flung the kid at Teo-jiji, and for all that he wasn’t treated right—you know, being expected to instinctively know how to act like a pampered prince—he did end up in a good home, relatively speaking, with warm clothes, his own room, food, and training, and it led him to his own little family.”

“Creepy as fuck as some of them are,” Chikusa muttered.

“If we interfere, maybe it’d be better to get Teo-jiji and his snotty guardians to not give the kid such a hard time. I can’t place this on the same level as rescuing Mukuro, Ken, and Chikusa, because I’m usually five years old when I arrive and they’ve already been tortured. Getting them away is the only sane thing to do at that point.”

“No, they’ve yet to move beyond experimentation on adults,” Mukuro said, answering an unasked question. “Any and all thoughts toward Possession Bullets has been ruthlessly squashed by an embedded compulsion. The second I hear a hint that they’re looking at the children, I will warn you and we will act, but considering they did so after the Possession Bullets were outlawed and people started trying to exterminate the famiglia…”

“It may not happen,” Ken said. “I’d still feel better about getting our local selves out of there regardless.”

“And we will, if that’s what you want,” Tsuna reassured him. “For now, let’s go buy us a shop and track down some contractors for closer to our NEWT exams. And, you know, make sure they don’t do something inconvenient like book that time for someone else’s job.”

A ton of stored gold was exchanged for the local currency and used to pay for the place, and the contractors were booked to start the job during their Easter holiday of seventh year. It would not be a problem for one of the twins to keep a window open to quietly supervise and, if necessary, pop over in person and use a time turner to appear not to have gone in the first place.

It’s not like they were learning anything new, after all.

They weren’t children to fret and obsess and worry about nitpicky things (like Granger), and all that free time (not spent revising an essay for the tenth time and still fretting that it wasn’t good enough) was spent on learning ahead, or at least learning things they really wanted to know.

But from a professor? Fuck, no.

They had to go at a pace that inbred pure-bloods could handle. The years were only as fast as the slowest of them, and with people like Crabbe and Goyle?

When Easter hols rolled around they went home to № 6 and Mukuro went off for another in-depth look at Estraneo while Daemon went to Pavia to keep an eye on the start of the renovations. The plans would not make the place into a duplicate of the original Samsara (due to the shape of the property) but it would do well enough. While there, Daemon would also take care of any permits required for the business.

They had purchased several extended trunks, including multi-compartment, with acquired gold and gone over them with the equivalent of a fine-toothed comb during the year, plus required information from Roary’s, and were able to create two trunks for their upcoming use.

One, a house trunk, contained all the amenities of a normal house, suitable for eight people. Assuming it functioned properly in alternate dimensions, it would be an invaluable investment of time and money. The other, a multi-compartment storage trunk, with most of the compartments intended to hold shop stock. One would hold dry goods, because it was always a good idea to have supplies with a beyond world-class chef in the family.

Their time at Hogwarts came to an end with the NEWT exams, and then they were nearly free.

Once they had their results—straight Outstandings across the board—a trip to Gringotts finally saw Tsuna getting access to all his vaults, though he would wait until after his “death” to loot them bare.

Then they arranged for their holiday. The pilot was appropriately mind-fucked, flight plans were filed, and they flew off to their deaths. The pilot was stepped to a safe location, given a good knock on the head, and left unconscious right around the corner from a hospital. Police later suspected that someone had taken his place as pilot on the doomed flight, which led to the deaths of the eight passengers.

A tragedy all around.

Samsara stepped _Between_ to their new home.

Personal mail wards had been set prior to their fatal plane ride, so there shouldn’t be any issue with lovelorn people sending off post to Harry Potter in some sort of bizarre good-bye. Considering that owls which could not find their target tended to fly around in circles for some time before giving up and returning the letter to the sender (and the same was true against those with mail wards) it should be fine.

With that out of the way they settled into life as Samara proper, which was amusing in that only three of them had any experience with the original Samsara and the remainder were at a loss as to what to do with themselves.

Daemon went off to Sicily to find the local Daemon and start the process of wooing the man to their side, while Xeul went to just outside Milan to do another check on Vongola. That left Mukuro as the resident Mist. Hayato, Chikusa, and Ken either helped get everything set up in the shop—from displays to stock to getting the kitchen kitted out—or went exploring so they had a much better idea of their present neighborhood.

An anchored Bounding Box went up, one intended to keep out anyone of dubious intent—those looking to steal from Samsara, kill anyone inside, suborn, or generally, up to no good that went against them—and Hayato declared his intent to be Samsara’s accountant.

Tsuna, now wearing his Heul disguise, spent the first full day planning out exactly what he was going to fill all those bakery displays with (most of which, at the outset, would be eaten by themselves or donated to orphanages and hospitals—at least until business picked up).

That night he was drawn away from the house trunk by Sin and into the only proper bedroom they had. Tsuna immediately cottoned on to what this was about and steeled himself. He was nervous and excited and generally a mess, but a serene smile slid into place to cover that up.

Sin just smirked. “I know that smile, and I know that this time it’s not because you’re teasing or trolling me. Nervous, tesoro?” He moved in closer and bent his head enough to capture Tsuna’s lips in a firm kiss that quickly morphed to a teasing one.

Tsuna’s heart rate began to rise and he started to feel a bit breathless. He pulled back and looked into the abyss. “You do remember I’ve never done this before. I trust you’ll—”

“Oh, tesoro,” Sin cut in, “I’ll treat you like the treasure you are, the gift I never once expected to be given. Why don’t we start with a massage. That doubles as relaxation and exploration. From there… Well, we’ll see, won’t we. I realize that you could suffer a ridiculously stupid death at any moment, but I don’t take that as reason to rush things. Now that your body is finally adult, though, I’ve every reason to start staking my claim.”

He took that as a reason to feel reassured and nodded. It wasn’t every day someone of his collective age finally stuck a toe over the line into losing his virginity. On the down side… The down side meant it was even more obvious that he would never willingly produce a legitimate heir for the Vongola Famiglia.

Sin leaning in to capture his mouth again saw those thoughts scatter and his attention pulled back to where it belonged, now, in the moment.

The next day Tsuna was feeling pleasantly relaxed. The massage had shown him a version of Heaven he’d not known existed, and left him wanting more, frequently. Sin’s hands were adept at far more than just killing, and Tsuna was one lucky bastard (never mind that Sin insisted he was the lucky bastard).

He hummed all morning, happily baking away, and a series of yummy treats started to fill the bakery displays. By the time the shop actually opened they were half full and they had their first curious customer, lured in by the Kokuyo trio, noisily on their way to have a treat at that new place.

Sin was helping in the kitchen, with no intention of being seen in public without a disguise until the appropriate time, so Tsuna meandered out as Heul to take care of things. The real customer, who looked to be a middle-class businessman stopping in while running an errand outside work, purchased a croissant to take with him (and was noticeably annoyed that there was no such thing as coffee to be had) and wandered back out, though not before casting more than one curious look at the “old things” on display for sale.

It took a good two weeks before Shamal wandered in (subtle prompting on the part of his Mists, and which made Tsuna wonder just what Daemon was up to that he wasn’t back yet) and ordered a sampler of goodies. He wrinkled his nose at only having the options of water, juice, and oolong tea to drink, but carted his tray over to a table and settled in to eat and read what looked like a graphic porn novel.

Delighted humming sounded from over that way once Shamal started eating, though for all Tsuna knew it had more to do with the porn than the food. The Kokuyo trio were pretending to be customers again, playing Skip-Bo at a table and noshing on mitarashi dango.

Before he left Shamal, too, had eyed up the “old things” displays with a discerning eye, paying especial attention to the antique guns.

With any luck they wouldn’t have to do more meddling; Shamal would do the work for them.

“The food tastes different,” Sin commented the next day.

“Huh?”

“Since I’ve been helping you in the kitchen,” Sin clarified. “When I eat something from the display now… I almost feel healthier, weirdly enough.”

Tsuna blinked a few times and went off to fetch a croissant to munch on. “Huh, you’re right. I think … maybe … you’re picking up my unintentional use of flames in cooking? If so, you definitely have to be helping whenever I make flu-fighters.”

“Are you two canoodling over food?”

Tsuna beamed happily on seeing that Daemon was back; he had a friend in tow, presumably the local Daemon. “Yeul! You’re back. I assume this is…?”

Daemon’s head dipped in a nod. “Yes. And after a fun-filled rampage against the Nasso Famiglia, we came to an agreement.”

“I would be pleased to assist your efforts with regard to Vongola in exchange for learning some of your more interesting tricks.”

Tsuna nodded. “We need a new name for you, though. It can get very confusing at times with more than one Daemon Spade, and to me, Yeul is the original Daemon because he’s the first one I connected with.”

“Bael will do,” the newly-named Bael said.

Tsuna turned inward for a moment, then said, “One of the seven princes of hell and has the power to make those who invoke him invisible. Mm, works for me. Welcome aboard! We made a discovery today. Sin has apparently picked up on my thing with cooking.”

Daemon’s brow went up in mild confusion. “How does that even translate?”

“Better health,” Sin said. “I seem to be imbuing the food I help Heul cook with Sun Flames, the same way he does with Sky Flames.”

Daemon shook his head. “You were so wasted as a mafia boss, Heul. You could probably bring about world peace if enough people just ate your cooking.”

Bael looked highly skeptical of that claim—or he did, until a croissant was shoved into his hand and he took a bite. “Huh. This is extraordinary. I feel almost peaceful. And yes, a sense of … wellbeing. Interesting. I amend my earlier statement. I also require food.”

Tsuna snickered and nodded. “Sure. If you’re willing, you can help with keeping Teo-jiji from being such an asshole. It’s slightly unnerving with Xeul or Daemon away for long periods of time, and if you’re anything like them, I already know you’d be fantastically effective.”

Bael did a shrug-nod combo and had another bite of his croissant.

“Shamal stopped by yesterday,” he informed Daemon. “He eyed the guns on his way out, so with any luck…”

Daemon smiled creepily. “If Reborn isn’t here within the month, we’ll just meddle.”

Conversation broke off due to a customer wandering in, so Tsuna got up to bag a half dozen cannoli for her and ring up the sale before returning to the table. “It’s a little weird. We’ve barely opened and already we’ve had more customers than we ever did at the original Samsara.”

“We also didn’t have people subtly luring others in,” Daemon replied, nodding at the Kokuyo trio. “I was occasionally glancing this way in case I was needed.”

“Hm, true. Anyway,” he said, glancing toward the door briefly. “Will you get started on teaching Bael those tricks, Yeul, or would you prefer I do it?”

“You are the creator, Heul.”

“All right. Someone please watch the store, then. Bael, let’s head upstairs so no customers see something they shouldn’t.” He grabbed two more croissants and headed up, Bael at his heels, and grabbed two butterbeers from the refrigerator before taking a seat at the kitchen table. After handing over one of each to their new friend, he said, “Right, so, the first trick is probably—actually, how did you two come here?”

Bael’s brow crinkled. “I’m not entirely sure.”

“Ah, okay.” Heul pulled the cork out of his butterbeer and had a sip before saying, “He brought you through what I call _Between_. A ways back—my sixth life, I believe it was—I really wanted a way to store things easily. At first I thought, since I was, at the time, a Cloud with a Mist secondary, that I could propagate the space inside a pouch or something.

“But then I got to thinking, there is no such thing as a solid. No matter how small the space is, there is always space between the molecules that everything’s made up of. And I wanted to use that space. It’s there, it exists.” He reached into his storage and pulled out a book, and waved it around before putting it back.

“The fun thing is that you can also move around in it, use it to spy from a position where no one can see or normally sense you. You can hold panes of glass on the edge of _Between_ to view places, and you can step via _Between_ to get places, like, uh, teleporting, sort of? That’s how Yeul got you here. How he figured out how to use it after I showed him an example—like that book I just showed you—I’m not sure. I’m not even sure exactly how I do it, just that I wanted it and it happened.”

Bael said, “I will ask him, because everyone’s mind works differently.”

Tsuna nodded. “Next up are what I’d call an upgrade to Mist barriers…” An hour later he moved on to what they were hoping for. “I don’t know how much Yeul told you about what we’re hoping for, so I’ll just go over it myself.”

Bael nodded agreeably.

“One, to not go after the Simon Famiglia. I don’t know anything about anyone but Enma, but he was a lot like me in many ways—well, before I got shuffled a few times and wised the fuck up. I still don’t know what caused any Daemon Spade to go bugnuts over Cozarto Simon aside from that one thing that happened around that time period and I don’t really care to dig at this point, but Enma doesn’t deserve what happens to him all too often.”

Bael’s expression twisted, but he nodded. “I can accept that. After Yeul walking me through a few things from your various lives, I can see where that whole enmity is pointless.”

Tsuna smiled in relief. “Two, to help us—or rather, the local me—with keeping the vultures off his back. We will be there in time, housed pretty much right next door, to prevent Iemitsu—not so affectionately referred to as the Tsow, for Tainted Sack of Wind—from getting Teo-jiji to put a seal on his flames all of five seconds after he goes active.

“That seal fucked me up,” he said with a bitter scowl. “It depressed my intelligence, messed up my motor control, and basically made me into the sweetest bait you can imagine for bullies. I was constantly getting beat up or made fun of. Once I realized what had happened, that second life, and what it was doing to me, I tried to break it on my own the next life and, well, exploded myself.”

Bael’s brow went up in confusion.

“I was an Earth that life, and…”

“Ah.”

“After that I figured out ways to avoid them even knowing I had flames, active or otherwise. We can prevent it for this local Tsuna, which is good, and be there to help him learn how to safely and responsibly use his flames. If Teo-jiji and the Tsow _think_ he’s been sealed, that’s cool. Less immediate mess on that end.

“Sealed or not, it didn’t stop assassins from showing up on a regular basis in some lives, so we’ll be protecting him from that, too. Where you come in is where I inevitably die a hilariously stupid death, because I always do. The oldest I’ve made it to so far is twenty-four, and getting that far is rare. Hopefully we’ll have had a positive enough influence in his life that he’d be all right after we were gone, but without knowing when we’ll be going…”

Bael nodded. “And if he’s anything like you, he would be worth protecting until he can stand on his own two feet.”

“Well, presumably not as psychotic as me, and quite likely far more normal, but yeah, I expect he’d be a decent kid and a strong adult with the right support. And, preferably, proper guardians, not those bullshit political peons Teo-jiji thinks are proper.”

“One does tend to lose certain so-called acceptable morals when one has Mist Flames,” Bael said.

He hummed. “Third, any help you can spare, while not otherwise occupied, in keeping the ninth generation in line and trying to at least get the brothers three married off and producing babies to carry on the line. No idea if the local Tsuna is straight, gay, or somewhere in between, but the idea of putting the entire burden of Vongola’s sins on his shoulders plus the responsibility of continuing the bloodline is just a bit much. The way it usually goes is that Ricardo’s line ends, and since I’m too often the local Tsuna, Giotto’s dies out, too.”

Bael frowned. “That would mean…”

“Yeah. Sucks all around, because then two lines are dead, Vongola is lost completely, and the Tri-ni-set is hosed due to Giotto and/or Ricardo putting that blood-lock in place, which means the world would end much sooner than expected—at least according to Iron Hat Guy. This is a major impetus behind trying to get more babies born. In most worlds they never do get married or have children. They took their father’s failure to get married until he was thirty-ish like gospel, and then of course they were all killed off.” Tsuna shrugged.

Xeul was clearly listening in because indigo words flamed up a moment later: Enrico is scheduled to get married in September.

“Excellent! Are you coming home soon?”

Xeul: Yes, not much longer.

“Drop a note with what you want for when you get back and time enough for me to shop.”

Xeul: Will do, darling~!

“I wonder if we should be feeding Enrico and his incipient wife fertility potions?” he muttered. “Although, I don’t know if those work properly on normal people. Or people with active flames.”

“…Fertility … potions?”

“Oh, right, I guess you’re not aware of the magical world.”

Bael got as close to gawking as any Daemon Spade would ever allow himself being seen with.

“Yeah,” he said slowly. “This falls under something very similar to Omertà, called the Statute of Secrecy, put in place by the International Confederation of Wizards. Kind of like an analogue to the UN, except much stupider and far more silly.”

It took a bit for Bael’s sense of which way was up to fix itself, but he adjusted and laughed creepily and took out a half dozen civilian defects. Then he was better, for a given definition of better.

Shamal wandered back in a week later and sampled the cheesecake, eyed the weapons, and left with a half cheesecake to go. He was boring in that he asked for a strawberry compote to go with it.

A week after that … Reborn strutted in, his baby form too cute for words. A serene smile slid into place as Tsuna watched Reborn strut on over to the weaponry on display and begin to examine them. He knew Sin was watching through a one-way window, there mainly so that Tsuna could see from the kitchen who had come in when the bell on the door tinkled.

While he waited he busied himself with his oolong and a crossword puzzle. Reborn sent him the occasional covert look, possibly because he expected this adult to question him and shoo him away from the deadly weapons. Tsuna just worked on his crossword and had sips of his tea until Reborn wandered his way and tilted his hat back.

He turned his serene smile on the chibified man. “Hm?”

“The Smith & Wesson 2nd Model American Revolver. Your price is way too high. You can’t honestly expect people to pay that much for a gun that’s missing at least half the original finish.” His eyes were the usual dark abyss and he radiated a sense of bright, scorching flames destined to incinerate you next.

His serene smile firmly in place, Tsuna said, “Ah, but, Ki-san, you speak as if guns like that grow on all the trees and beg to be plucked like ripe fruit. Surely someone of your learning would know this.”

Reborn’s eye started twitching right on schedule.

(It was like music to Tsuna’s ears.)

Reborn named a figure that was way too low. Tsuna’s serene smile widened just a touch as he named a figure not much lower than the asking price of ₤2,500,000. Reborn countered with a figure not much higher than his first bid.

Tsuna was thrilled to play the game again and entered into a spirited haggling session, smiling his serene smile and experiencing a peculiar kind of joy on seeing that twitch get stronger. They finally settled on a price of ₤2,115,000, which was the value Tsuna had long since calculated as the actual price.

“It is a deal, then, Ki-san,” Tsuna said happily. He got up and went to fetch down the gun, then brought it to the counter so he could place it in a white box lined with acid-free tissue paper, which then went into a crisp white bag with the violet and indigo logo of Samsara.

He ran the sale, not bothering to look at the name on the card, and, as a bonus, threw in a single brownie of the sort he knew Sin adored. “A gift with your first purchase,” he said serenely. “I had fun haggling with you, Ki-san~! Do come again.”

Reborn huffed off with his bag, the jingle of the bell a bit strident in his passing, and disappeared around the corner.

Tsuna burst out laughing and welcomed it when Sin came up behind him and enfolded him in a hug.

“The question is whether or not he’ll test that brownie and eat it, or just throw it away as suspicious,” Sin said, placing a kiss on Tsuna’s cheek.

“I would have told him to wave his magic wand over it first to be sure it wasn’t poisoned, but I just could not do it, not to a Reborn who was…”

Sin kissed him again. “I know. It hurts, to see that, to see … me … cursed and bitter…”

“Like badly roasted coffee beans?” he teased.

Sin pinched his side in retaliation. “My dream stands that I will one day get you to see the beauty of coffee, tesoro.”

“Not gonna happen, schatz. The closest you will ever get me to coffee is tiramisu and a White Russian. But I will happily argue with you about it until the end of time if only for the amusement factor.”

Sin scoffed, but held him close again. “I wonder how long before he comes back. If he does eat that brownie, I imagine it’ll be soon. If he gets to hankering for another antique, maybe a month. I think it was about that long before I came back after that first time.”

He nodded. “About that, yeah.”

“Just means I need to keep wearing the disguise for now. Lord knows I don’t want anyone figuring me out aside from my counterpart, and then only after we can trust he’ll stay quiet about it.”

It took two weeks before Reborn came back. Shamal had come again, twice, and carted off a full cheesecake, a dozen cannoli, and a sampler of Japanese sweets. Tsuna reckoned he was becoming fond of the food, so it was just as well there had never been any women present during the times he dropped by.

‘Though, it would be amusing to drop-kick his ass out the door and deny him entrance ever again for harassing my customers,’ he thought.

Reborn strutted in and went straight for the guns, which made Tsuna bite the inside of his mouth to prevent a bout of hysterical giggling. He shared an amused look with Sin and took his turn at (multilingual) Scrabble. (He almost always lost, but he attributed that to Sin being better at calculating word scores in his head.)

He had just lost another game when Reborn strutted over with a familiar look of, ‘Are you mental?’ and immediately complained about the price of the gun he was drooling over.

A serene smile slid into place and Tsuna took a few agonizing moments to have a dango sphere and eat it before saying, “Ah, Ki-san, how lovely to see you again. I assume you have finished the sacred ritual with the gun you recently purchased and are now in need of a new one?”

For a split second there was a dumbfounded look on Reborn’s face, swiftly replaced with a scowl. “You,” he said, pausing for a moment, “are weird.”

Tsuna blinked slowly, like a cat. “Ki-san is flirting with me~!”

The eye twitch thing started back up.

“I am sorry, Ki-san, but I am afraid you are too late. I am spoken for,” he said, shooting a heated look at Sin before reverting to a serene smile. “Which gun was it you were interested in?”

They haggled spiritedly, Tsuna packed up the gun the usual way, and stopped when he heard, “Do you have more of those brownies?”

“No,” he (technically) lied (because they were in the kitchen and not the display case), “but I do have a similar cake, with buttercream frosting. I have been experimenting, you see. Would you like to try that, Ki-san? I can give you a small sample to try first.”

Without waiting for an answer he grabbed a piece of cake and nipped the corner off with a fork, then offered it to Reborn.

The Sun stared hard at him, his face blank, but his eyes expressing volumes in a way that only those with long exposure could interpret. Then he accepted the fork and nibbled the cake off it. For some reason Tsuna was reminded of a rabbit, which would surely get him killed should he ever voice the thought.

Reborn handed the fork back and said, “I’ll take—” He paused to check the display case. “—six pieces.”

Tsuna upped the intensity of his smile and nodded, then got out another box. “Do you prefer corners or does it not matter?”

“…Corners.”

“I like corners, too, Ki-san.” He used a cake knife to carefully slide the pieces into the box, closed it, and added it to the bag. He ran the credit card Reborn handed him and passed it back, got the usual illegible signature, and lowered the bag down, receipt tucked inside. On seeing Reborn’s nostrils flare he added, “You are correct. We do not serve coffee here to drink.”

Reborn’s eye twitched again, he nodded, and off he huffed.

“Okay, now that was just plain mean,” Sin complained.

“Reading his mind?” he asked, retaking his seat for another game.

Sin frowned at him and shook the bag of tiles before laying them out off to the side of the board. “That is my thing, damn it. No stealing it.”

Tsuna laughed at him. “But I am an exceptional thief.”

Sin stared, then pulled tiles for the start of the game. “I’m going to just assume I’ll come with you next go around. With that said, I call dibs on a Mist body. I really want to be able to do those things.”

He nodded. “You would think we’d have had an easier time of getting everyone Mist Flames, but they’re surprisingly rare when we show up.” He shook his head unhappily. “My twins no longer _need_ a Mist body. Neither does Mukuro, but he prefers one if he can get it. And no one is willing to take a female body, not that I blame them. I still remember that time Ryohei was a female named Rei.”

He shuddered. The very idea of being the opposite gender was enough to make him want to off himself if it happened. Maybe that was why it had never happened. Maybe the powers that be knew his feelings on the matter and made damn sure he was never dropped into a universe where his counterpart was female. There would be little point to it if Tsuna just offed him—herself the first chance they got.

‘Well, unless the whole point of that universe was to take my counterpart out of the running entirely.’

Xeul jingling the bell as he strolled in saw Tsuna standing up so he could give his Lightning a hug. Xeul shooed him back to his seat, declining an offer to fetch him refreshments. “I’ll be there in a moment.”

Xeul returned several minutes later with a cup of tea and a half dozen chocolate chip cookies. “So,” he said, taking a seat, “we’re set for the fifth of September. I already have a visual for the location, so we can watch.”

“And the girl?”

Xeul rolled his eyes. “Blonde, big blue eyes, busty, child-bearing hips, and no brains to speak of. The perfect wife if what you’re after is a Barbie doll who looks good on your arm and won’t question you.”

Tsuna shuddered again. “Not going to complain, so long as this union produces babies. Though, the no brains part is worrisome. We already have enough of an issue with Teo-jiji’s lack of intelligence. Still, babies. The faster they start…”

“The worst thing is that—in my universe, anyway—we never did find out who took out the brothers. If it was one person or group, or multiple,” Sin said.

“Whoever took out Massimo was either a fan of those damn movies, or used that method to make the whole thing a sick joke. A back-handed slap at how lax Vongola had become?” He shrugged.

“How goes the hunt?” Xeul asked. “I’ve only been checking in for a few minutes each day, so…”

Tsuna brightened. “He took the bait. Bought two guns already.”

“And appears to love Heul’s cooking,” Sin added. “You just missed him, actually. He was here a short while ago. Heul is just as good at getting under his skin as he was mine.”

Tsuna smirked. All that experience had to count for something. “Oh, I think I blew Bael’s mind when I let slip our most recent additions.”

Xeul’s brow flirted up briefly. “Clearly I left that conversation too early. How so?”

“I may have mentioned fertility potions.”

“Not a bad idea, except for the part where we don’t know how they affects actives or normals. Massimo has his eye on a few candidates for the honor of becoming his wife, so there’s progress on that front, as well. We’ll just have to pray that of the children born of these unions at least one is a Sky.”


	8. λ15: 08: 1998-1999, 2005-?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Personal e-book copies: [.azw3](http://ff.grazhir.com/samsara2/Samsara_%20Treading%20On%20Scorched%20S%20-%20Shivani.azw3), [.epub](http://ff.grazhir.com/samsara2/Samsara_%20Treading%20On%20Scorched%20S%20-%20Shivani.epub), [.mobi](http://ff.grazhir.com/samsara2/Samsara_%20Treading%20On%20Scorched%20S%20-%20Shivani.mobi)

## λ15  
08: 1998-1999, 2005-?

Hayato sidled up to him and offered him a book.

Tsuna took in the closed expression on his Storm’s face, then accepted the book. The cover read: Tales of Beedle the Bard.

His brow went up in question, and Hayato promptly said, “Read the Tale of the Three Brothers. I think you’ll find it interesting.” With that he slipped away, clearly unwilling to explain further.

Tsuna pouted, got himself a cup of tea, and settled in to read. The tale itself was not a long one, but his brows started to rise shortly in, and by the time he was done he was nearly gawking. He had acquired three items which could easily pass for the artifacts mentioned in the tale. Tucked into the book at the conclusion of the tale was an article from the _Quibbler_ , discussing the Deathly Hallows and the dubious delights of the title of Master of Death, held by whoever was (un)lucky enough to obtain all three parts.

The ring stood out most, for its alleged properties. Being able to call back the dead? Not for real, not in body, but to be able to speak with them?

Tsuna declared a meeting over dinner that night and explained about the tale.

Hayato already knew, as he was the one who found the book, and was also the one who snaffled the old goat’s wand to keep it from souvenir hunters. He had also clearly seen the symbol etched into the stone of that ring taken from the Gaunt shack. And they all knew of the cloak that Harry Potter had received as a “gift” from a “mysterious” benefactor.

It was Mukuro who openly voiced what Hayato had been driving at and Tsuna had come to realize. “The stone,” he said. “We could use it to call Giotto and get him to divulge how the ring was blood-locked?”

Tsuna nodded. “Yes? No? Decide at a later date?”

After a thoughtful pause wherein everyone ate or drank, heads started nodding agreement.

“Let’s try it,” Daemon said. “While I don’t particularly want to think about what a worst case scenario could be, I am very interested to know if the stone functions and could give us the answers to a long debated issue.”

With no dissent, Tsuna nodded again. “After dinner.”

They settled into various chairs and sofas in the sitting room of the apartment. Tsuna pulled a silk bag out of storage and tipped the stone out onto a piece of parchment (which rested on a square of aluminum) that had been treated to discolour if there were toxic or noxious substances on the whatever was placed atop it.

There was no reaction.

Hayato, Mukuro, and Chikusa hit the thing with a battery of detection spells, and those also came up negative.

“I guess the original curse was on the ring itself, not the stone,” Ken commented.

Tsuna reached out a bit hesitantly and picked up the stone. The symbol was inside the stone, like a strange confluence of occlusions to form the triangle-line-circle symbol of the Deathly Hallows. He turned it, trying to get a better look, several times, and then nearly dropped the thing when Giotto appeared in a form that was neither ghost nor flesh, but rather something in between.

Giotto stared at him, a look of confusion on his features, features so very similar to Tsuna’s natural ones. Then he spotted not one but three Daemon Spades, and appeared to be struck with a blinding pain behind one eye given the way it started twitching uncontrollably.

“Giotto,” Tsuna said quietly.

The not-ghost’s head snapped around silently. “Who—no, wait.” His voice echoed strangely. “You don’t look right, but I can see who you are, underneath. Why have you called me?”

“We have, too many times, lived lives where all blood members of the Vongola were killed. The blood-lock on the Sky Ring doomed the world. We would like to know how you placed it, and how to remove it. For that knowledge to be, at the very least, placed with those who could husband that knowledge.”

Giotto continued to look confused. “Husband that knowledge?”

“The Vindice,” he said. “They already carry many secrets and are probably the most impartial body in the mafia world. You, Ricardo, or the both of you together, took a piece of the Tri-ni-set and locked it down. If the blood of Vongola is lost, the ring cannot be worn, and therefore cannot serve its purpose. It dooms the world.”

“It’s not…” Giotto looked deeply conflicted. “It’s not a blood-lock.”

Various faces expressed skepticism and surprise.

Tsuna’s brow went up in a silent demand. “Then what is it?”

“It’s us,” Giotto said. “We’re … a part of the ring. It’s… How can I put this? A part of each of us is in that ring, like a price? A payment? When someone new puts on that ring, we judge them. But we only know what we know because when the ring is worn by a valid holder, we learn things. The part of us in that ring… It’s like an echo, of sorts. We—they—learn about the current state of the family, the blood, but…”

“So you and the other dons imprinted in that ring have no real concept of the outside world,” he stated, “just who is eligible and some information about their characters? I remember the one life where I wore that ring, a strange sensation that passed quickly, but that was it. So you would have no knowledge of, say, a bastard heir, not unless the current holder knew of their birthright.”

Giotto nodded. “Well, we can sense if they’re of the blood, but without previous knowledge, we would have to, er, sense a lot harder. And what do you mean by ‘that life’?”

“I remember my past lives,” he said simply.

Giotto looked almost offended. As a staunch Catholic that rather made sense. “I don’t understand what you mean by Tri-ni-set,” he said, pronouncing the term slowly.

Tsuna sighed. “Of course you don’t,” he muttered. As if Checker Face would have bothered to explain the significance. He kept all his cards close to his chest, unless it was during a moment of monologuing at a person shortly to be murdered by his own hand.

Ten minutes later Giotto was more or less enlightened, and subsequently horrified. “There isn’t anything you can really do, though. I can’t say with any certainty if the imprints are even capable of independent thought. You could try getting your hands on the ring and, er, talking to them? But they would test you, to see if you were qualified to fully inherit the power of the ring, and quite likely bond it to you, which would mean you’d become the Vongola leader.”

Tsuna heaved another sigh and shook his head in annoyance.

“This is starting to hurt, by the way.”

“Huh?”

“It hurts, being here for so long,” Giotto said. “The dead aren’t meant to cross over like this.”

“All right. Thank you for what you’ve been able to tell us.” He had no idea how to release Giotto and went the simple expedient of enacting his will, much as they could do with magic or flames. Moments later Giotto vanished, presumably back to the afterlife.

“Well, shit,” he said. The stone went back into the labeled silk bag, it was tied off, and tossed back into storage.

“We clearly made some inaccurate assumptions,” Daemon said unhappily. “And in this life our only option is to go as we have been, ensuring that there are plenty of Vongola blood.”

“How the hell did they get the half-rings to do the same check?” Hayato asked.

“Perhaps a form of sympathetic magic?” Chikusa hazarded. “Or soul magic, as the case may be.”

Sin squeezed his hand in sympathy.

“You know the sad part in all this?”

“What?” Hayato obligingly asked.

“Checkers killed me that one time and said it was all my fault that the world was doomed. But in the end? It was him—or his people—who made the damn ring work the way it does. I exposed more of a flaw than I realized, it seems.”

It was pissing rain the next time Reborn arrived. He somehow managed to make dashing through the rain look elegant, despite his tiny size and haste. He did not, surprisingly, make straight for the guns after removing his hat long enough to shake off the water out the door, but rather stood there looking at the expanse of floor between him and the counter.

Tsuna’s brow went up at the sight, then fetched a spare kitchen towel from the rail and walked it over to the Sun. “Here,” he said. “And don’t worry about water on the floor, Ki-san. Perhaps we should invest in a roll-out carpet for days like this?”

Reborn accepted the towel and gave himself a once-over to remove the worst effects of the rain, then offered it back. Tsuna lobbed it across the room, subtly employing Earth Flames to ensure it landed in the used towels bin, then watched as Reborn trotted over to the counter.

He followed and stepped behind, his serene smile sliding into place. “Could I interest you in some hot tea, Ki-san? It seems just the thing for a day like this.”

Reborn’s nose scrunched up, though he nodded. “A serving of tiramisu to go with it.”

Tsuna ignored the failure to adhere to common courtesy with the lack of a “please” and set to work getting the order ready after saying, “Please be seated. I will have it ready momentarily.” A few minutes later he delivered a pot of tea, a cup, and a scrumptious-looking ramekin of tiramisu. “Let me know if you need anything else, Ki-san,” he said before returning to his table to finish conquering his crossword puzzle.

He was amused a bit later when the Kokuyo trio returned from a visit to the cinema and served themselves; Reborn looked affronted by the whole thing. The trio slid into seats at his table and Chikusa said, “I think you would like the film, Heul.”

“What did you go see?” he asked, setting his pencil down.

“Dirty Rotten Scoundrels,” Mukuro said with a smirk. “Of course, anything with Michael Caine in it is generally a reason to watch.”

He hummed. “I shall have to make time for that, then. Anything that makes you smirk so is bound to be amusing.”

“We can watch Samsara while you’re out,” Ken assured him.

“I will have to see if Sin would like to join me, then.” A cough had him looking to the side; Reborn was there, looking impatient.

Another spirited haggling session ensued, and Reborn trotted off into a lull in the storm with another gun, two servings of tiramisu, and a half dozen brownies.

“He’s so much more guarded than Sin was,” he said softly. “I get why, it’s just…”

“Depressing.”

“Yeah. What time is the wedding due to start?”

“Two o’clock. Gives them time to do the ceremony, the photograph session while the guests are transferring to the reception area, and then spend the rest of the day having a party and showing off how much money they blew on clothes, food, and alcohol.”

Tsuna rolled his eyes; he was not alone in that. “We’ll just have to close up that afternoon. Or at noon. I want to be able to get the full picture, and that can’t happen if we have to be keeping an eye on the store. People are going to think we’re crazy if one of us starts laughing hysterically for no apparent reason.”

“Like that hasn’t happened before,” Chikusa muttered, casting a quick glance at Mukuro.

Mukuro preened. He seemed to take being viewed as an axe-crazy murderer at times as something to be proud of.

“With the amount of pomp in that room it’s a wonder they don’t drown in their own egos,” Sin commented.

The ceremony to join Enrico di Vongola with the busty blonde girl (Tsuna still hadn't caught her name) was being held in one of the buildings adjacent to the Iron Fort and consisted of a massive chapel with a matching great hall. The hall was normally used for parties and balls, which said something right there.

“This is why I am so opposed to huge weddings,” he added. “All that money, down the drain! Sure, people are getting paid to do planning and flowers and everything else, but the prices are horrifically inflated, the cakes are usually a week old at that point, and all of it gets torn down the next day and thrown out. Too often it’s all just an excuse to thumb your nose at the guests as a way to say, ‘Neener neener. I have more money than God and can afford to burn piles of it on a whim.’ ”

His family nodded tolerantly. Some of them were looking a skosh revolted.

It was beautiful and in good taste, as far as that went, and Tsuna expected the display was meant to show how powerful Vongola was, how secure, and how magnanimous to their allies. The cooks at the Iron Fort were on overtime getting the feast ready and various dishes were being prepared with an almost militaristic assembly line of chefs, prep cooks, and so forth.

Several extra Suns in good standing had been stationed in the kitchen to sweep the ingredients, workers, and food regularly to ensure nothing inimical was slipped in during the quasi-confusion of bodies rushing everywhere.

It was a little known fact that Enrico had Lightning Flames in addition to his Sky. This was not reflected in the colours for the wedding, which was most definitely a good thing, as otherwise pumpkins might be brought to mind. Instead, the complementary colour used was blue, ostensibly to honor the bride’s eyes, but mostly because it was a natural pairing with orange.

Enrico had been wired to only ever sleep with his lawfully wedded wife—not the girl specifically. People had been killed for less, and it was up to Vongola to keep the woman alive, healthy, and producing and nurturing babies. Should she end up having a tragic accident at the hands of a rival famiglia or a jealous and clever girl, Enrico would have to remarry in order to get his groove on again.

The girl had been similarly wired, just to keep things tidy.

Tsuna occasionally suffered twinges of doubt and guilt over the whole thing, but if Timoteo had simply been a decent father none of it would have been necessary. Tsuna could draw parallels to the Malfoy family except that Lucius had been taken out early and Draco was probably nothing like he would have been without that loss.

As the proceedings marched on Sin had to keep gently pinching or poking Tsuna so he didn’t fall asleep, it was that boring. _Finally_ it was over (the girl’s name was Rosa) and the guests were all shuffled from the chapel to the great hall to leisurely get drinks and find their seats. The “happy” bride and groom were subjected to a barrage of photography before being released to change and join the guests.

“I desperately need a break,” he said finally. “I’ll be in the kitchen. Yell if anything interesting happens, like an assassination attempt.”

“Interesting how you closed early on the fifth,” Reborn said casually, then pointed at one of the clues in the crossword Tsuna was working on. “Surely you’ve figured that one out already,” he said mockingly.

Tsuna smiled serenely. “Surely you have realized I have a method to how I go about these, Ki-san. As for the closing, there was a function we wished to witness.” The idea that Reborn had coincidentally dropped by on exactly that day (when he had visited three days earlier already) was laughable. That he had and connected the dots was not.

“Really,” Reborn drawled, helping himself to a cup of tea without bothering with the social niceties of asking first. “I am uncertain what a shopkeeper would find so interesting to witness as to close down early for the day.”

“Naked midget wrestling competition, in tapioca pudding,” he said a beat later, still smiling serenely.

Reborn scowled at him over his cup.

That was when Sin walked out to join them, minus his usual disguise.

Reborn’s expression went so blank Tsuna was tempted to think the man had suffered a mental BSOD and was having troubles finding the right switch to hit so that a reboot could commence.

“Schatz,” he greeted.

“I just pulled that last batch of pineapple tarts out of the oven, tesoro,” Sin said, taking a seat. He poured himself a cup of tea and aimed an amused look at Reborn.

Now if only he had a local Fon to entice with them and bargain for tea leaves with. He had a lot of happy memories of λ9, what they called the Store World, and was grateful beyond measure that he and his treasure had been reunited a handful of lives later. “What do you think about lemon tarts? I found some really nice lemon curd the other day.”

Sin hummed happily. “Definitely, though I wouldn’t say no to you hand-making the curd. Things always taste better when you make them from scratch.”

“What—the—fuck,” Reborn said flatly.

Tsuna smiled. “Problem, Ki-san?”

“Who—the fuck—are you?” Reborn demanded, his gaze boring into Sin’s.

“Are you sure you can handle the knowledge?” Sin asked lazily, a smirk hovering at the side of his mouth.

Reborn’s hand twitched toward his Leon. “Explain,” he demanded imperiously.

Sin turned to Tsuna. “Was I really this much of an entitlement queen in other dimensions?”

Tsuna laughed merrily and nodded. “The tendency is always there, Sin. You generally soften up a bit when you meet other mes. Rather like Kyo-chan around small animals, but not nearly as well pronounced or obvious.”

“Explain,” Reborn drawled, clearly nearing the end of his patience.

“I do believe he thinks he can handle it,” Sin said to Tsuna, still smirking.

Tsuna nodded and aimed a serene smile at Reborn. “Ki-san, meet an alternate dimension version of yourself, one who was … cured. Released from that burden you carry. Others have been, too. We purposely lured you here in order to establish an acquaintance, so that you would vouch for us with the others, and so that we could take care of that _thing_ chained around your neck. Checkers might be too lazy to find a better solution, one that does not require sacrificing our strongest, but I made it a life goal to figure out how to save you and those like you.”

“…Alternate dimension.”

He hummed. “I can show you.”

“You’re a Mist,” Reborn objected.

“Amongst other things, yes. It’s up to you, Ki-san. Are you willing to take a leap of faith? Or do we have to start with someone else? You are the de facto leader of your comrades. It would be much better coming from you, but if necessary, we will go to the Vindice and explain things to them. Trust me when I say they have always been eager to assist.”

Reborn sought refuge in his tea for a few sips, his form uncharacteristically tense. “Fine.”

“Please come upstairs, Ki-san,” he said as Sin’s Leon crawled out of hiding and up to rest of the man’s shoulder.

Daemon appeared right on schedule and took over running the store, sending a slightly pitying glance at Reborn that thankfully the chibi did not notice.

Upstairs (Sin had brought along the pot of tea and cups) they took seats at the kitchen table and Reborn looked as if he was just shy of completely flipping out and committing mass murder.

Tsuna opened a windows to λ9 and λ10, looking for the gatherings specifically. It had finally registered in his brain at some point that he was capable of not only targeting a specific dimension he had already experienced, but a specific time period, which was why Sin was not much older than twenty when he was kidnapped and brought to their current dimension.

“Reborn, kora!” λ9-Colonnello shouted. “Where the fuck—!?”

Sin smirked and pointed at the local Reborn.

“Holy fuck, kora! How the hell—?” λ9-Colonnello shut up when λ9-Lal bitch-slapped the back of his head.

“Heul?”

A confused babble of loud voices made his head ache at the intensity of it all, but everyone settled down when Tsuna raised his hand in a bid for silence. “Thank you,” he said. “We are presently six and five lives on from you guys and have established an acquaintance with the local Reborn. The year is 1998.”

The local Reborn was having another quiet meltdown at the sight of two sets of his fellow Arcobaleno all in adult form.

The group from λ9 was in the middle of their annual meeting (despite no longer being Arcobaleno), the one that Sin had abruptly vanished from. The λ10 group was also having their annual meeting, the one that happened the same year as the party in which Tsuna had died another hilariously stupid death.

λ10-Reborn took control of his group and said, “Heul, it’s good to see you again.”

Tsuna sent him a fond look and nodded. “As you of λ9 can see, your Reborn is now … my Reborn—or rather, he’s going by the name Sin, now.”

Sin saluted. “Sorry, guys. I was dragged here by a magical artifact due to a tournament Heul got dragged into. It’s complicated.”

“…At least you didn’t arrive there as a sentient mass of flames,” λ9-Fon said weakly.

“There is that.”

“So, once the local Reborn finishes all diagnostic checks and his brain reboots—” He ignored the bright green gun suddenly aimed at his head. “—we can get on with setting up the replacement system.”

“Have you managed to make contact with Talbot yet?” λ10-Lal asked.

“Yes, but it’s only now that we’re in any position to move forward. We were given an additional complication here which prevented us from moving ahead immediately. I have copies of the schematics, plus one of the demonstration pieces. This is just the usual, showing the native Reborn that we’re not a bunch of delusional crackpots trying to pull one over on him.”

λ10-Reborn eyed him and said, “How old are you right now?”

“Eighteen. We’re based in Pavia for the moment, but we’ll be moving in the next few years to head off the usual idiocy of certain in-duh-viduals.”

“Assuming you live so long,” chorused a bunch of smart-asses.

“Bite me,” he shot back automatically, then looked at the local Reborn. “Are you willing to be instrumental in—”

Reborn interrupted. “I want this damn thing off me. What do I need to do to make it happen?” he asked, his gaze switching restlessly between the various former Arcobaleno.

“You would need to help us wrangle the other Arcobaleno. They’ll listen to you. I’m just some stranger until and unless I bring up windows like these to force the point home like I’m doing now. We can get Talbot on board, get the Vindice on board, and the stuff we need set up and in place, ready to go. But then we need the Arcobaleno to cooperate at that point.”

“What about…” Reborn seemed unwilling to say either of the common names for Checker Face.

“Once we have everything in place and everyone else on board, then we get obnoxious and force Checkers to come deal with us. If the current Sky Arcobaleno has the usual powers ascribed to the ones from Giglio Nero and the Sky Mare ring, it should be simple at that point to convince him.”

“Prescience.”

Tsuna nodded. “In the case of λ10 it was Yuni, Aria’s daughter. In λ9 it was Aria, because she hadn't quite yet passed on that burden, though Yuni was there as backup. Checkers agreed with that and the realization that even he won’t live forever, and that at some point administration of the system will be out of his hands. It’s far better placed in the hands of those who are functionally immortal and that no sane person would even dream of attacking.”

“They’re very protective of the installation,” λ9-Verde said.

Tsuna nodded again. “On a side note, I have gifts~!”

People in both screens cheered and adopted eager, hungry expressions.

Tsuna started shifting goods to each group, making sure everyone got a little something of what they liked best, then looked at the native Reborn. “Any questions before I let them get back to their respective meetings?”

Reborn’s gaze shifted around again, drinking in the sight of uncursed comrades, then shook his head. “I’m good.”

“All right. I’m sure we’ll talk again later at some point,” Tsuna said to the windows. “Enjoy your gifts~!” Once everyone had had a chance to wave he packed the windows back into storage. “Once we have everything in place I was thinking you could call a meeting of the Arcobaleno. You might not be a Sky, but you’re still more of a leader for them than anyone else.”

“Doable. Who are you really?”

Tsuna shook his head. “Let’s get this done first. Then we can get the local Verde up to speed on the way the others came up with to accelerate your growth back to a comfortable twenty, so none of you are stuck having to grow up and experience puberty again.” He shuddered, having experienced it far too many times for sanity. “After that, we can kick back and explain better, such as who I am—or rather, who I usually am.”

Reborn scowled at being denied, but was bribed with a piece of cake to let it go for the time being.

Talbot was happy enough to help (more bribery in the form of baked goods helped) and accepted a set of schematics plus a loan of the sample to work from. While he was doing that, Tsuna was dealing with the Vindice, who were not quite as easy to bribe, though a window opened to their counterparts smoothed the way to convincing them and, more importantly, Bermuda that Tsuna was fully on the level with his request and offer.

Once Talbot had a working model that Bermuda could see and examine, he agreed to pick out a cavern for the power plant that Tsuna would be paying for (with gold acquired from all those gullible pure-bloods). Samsara had already sourced what they’d need and were waiting for the final dimensions of the location to come in to ensure it would fit.

They were into 1999 before the geothermal power plant had been installed and was verified as working. The containers and particle accelerator were positioned, connected, and powered.

Then … came the Arcobaleno meeting. Aria was less than pleased to be called away from her power base to a meeting in Pavia, but she came, because it was her Uncle Reborn who asked it of her and the others.

“This is unorthodox,” Aria said from her position at one of the tables. Her roaming gaze had taken in the entirety of the shop level plainly visible. The only reason she was not surrounded by members of Giglio Nero (they were all unhappily stationed nearby) was due to the Arcobaleno being there and perfectly capable of busting the caps of anyone who presumed to interfere.

Tsuna just smiled serenely and made sure everyone had food and drinks, then took a seat next to a disguised Sin. He was amused that his anchored disguises were more than enough to fool Viper, which was another point in favor for his theory of augmented souls.

Reborn openly sent out a wave of Sun Flames to check the food, mostly to show the newcomers that none of it was tampered with, then had a sip of his coffee before saying, “Unorthodox, yes, but also necessary if we want to be freed of this burden.”

As expected, the noise level increased drastically as various short people kept trying to talk over the others in order to get some kind of answer out of Reborn.

“Maybe next time we should get it all set up, get Checkers on board, and then _he_ can chivvy them all into place,” he murmured to Sin, who gave his leg a squeeze in response.

“You,” Aria said, looking at him.

“Is the tea not to your liking, Hana-san?”

She blinked in confusion.

“Don’t mind him,” Reborn said, “he’s a troll.”

Aria sent one of those uniquely female looks at the Sun before saying, “You are integral to all this,” to Tsuna.

“Yes,” he said simply. “I am the one who came up with the answer to the Arcobaleno Curse.”

Her eyes bore into him, and suddenly she gained a look of surprised understanding. “I see now. So what it is we need to do?”

Tsuna blessed (to a degree, anyway) the Giglio Nero ability to see sideways. That she wore the Sky Mare ring only intensified her ability. “We need to convene at Vendicare, where the solution has already been set up. We will need to get Checkers there, since he’ll have to be convinced. You, as a descendant of Sepira, should be more than enough to get him to listen to the explanation of how it works. Once he knows that, he should agree.”

“I could see that happening,” she said slowly, as the other Arcobaleno watched them like spectators at a tennis match. “How do you plan to get the attention of … him.”

“By being obnoxious,” he replied, feeling a sense of déjà vu. “I will write messages in the sky if that’s what it takes.” He had an idea where Checkers would be at later points on the calender, but he had no clue where the man was so early on. He bloody well _would_ write messages in the sky over various points in various countries, keyed to what he remembered of Checker Face’s flames, until the man came to investigate. Or use them to point the man at a dead drop with a more complete explanation and where to come find Tsuna.

Aria nodded. Given that she made no counter suggestions, it seemed her powers did not afford her the luxury of knowing where to find him.

“So, keep your calendars flexible.”

“Do we just need to be present, or will we need to actively contribute in some way?” Verde asked.

“Actively contribute. The new containers will need to be primed with the correct flames each, in large enough quantity so that the particle accelerator can match or outpace the amount necessary to feed the system—or in Cloud terminology, propagate. Or in other terms, propagating the principle and making payments with the interest.”

“We only have one Sky,” Aria pointed out.

Tsuna smiled. “Irrelevant. A Cloud with good command of their flames can propagate what you produce for this and make up the difference.”

Aria glanced at the violet and indigo Samsara logo and nodded. “All right. Will you let us all know when we need to assemble, Reborn?”

“Of course, bambina.”

“So this is the place, huh,” Reborn said, looking around the ground floor of the manor house which was conveniently located right next door (so to speak) to the house Sawada Iemitsu had been mind-fucked into purchasing for his adorable (airheaded) wife.

He hummed. “Let me show you to the room we reserved for you,” he said, then led the blessedly uncursed Reborn up to a room with cream-coloured walls (rather like the foam in certain types of coffee), white trim, a dark hardwood floor, and gold brocade curtains. A vague head nod to Reborn being a Sun, but neutral enough for most any occupant.

Reborn left his suitcase on the luggage rack at the foot of the bed and followed Heul back to the kitchen.

“That,” he said, pointing at the espresso machine, “is only here because of Sin. You’re welcome to use it for your own coffee addiction during any visits.”

Reborn looked very pleased at that and immediately went over to make himself a cup as Heul got out a plate of brownies and placed them on the table.

“So, this kid,” Reborn said. “He’s another you?”

“Right. The whole point of us being here is to ensure Teo-jiji and the Tsow do not seal the kid in fact. I don’t care if they _think_ they succeeded. We’re pretty handy with Mist Flames, so it shouldn’t be an issue to fake things.”

“How did it even happen, originally?” Reborn settled in with his espresso and snaffled a brownie for himself.

“I have a vague memory—I’m not even sure it’s real—that I fell out of a tree,” he said. “If it did happen, I guess it was enough to make me fear for my life and my flames activated. I can’t be sure. It’s been too damn long at this point.”

“And after that?”

He looked down at the table, trying to think back. “Actually, maybe that was the second time. I think the next one was Earth Flames, and I was careless? I think Nana saw me practicing. But that was it. After that I figured out ways to avoid being caught or tested.”

He regaled Reborn with tales of a frightened, screaming child, so scared of that strange blond man who called him a “tuna fish” and grinned when the man laughed at the thought of it. He was explaining all about his deep friendship with the family bonsai tree when the others arrived and piled into the kitchen looking for food.

Sin came up behind him and leaned down to plant a kiss on his cheek. “Tesoro,” he greeted, then went to get himself some coffee.

“So, let’s go over the plan,” Hayato said after he was set with a small pile of cookies.

“Our spying has shown us that the Tsow and Teo-jiji will be visiting next week, on the twelfth. Their current itinerary has them here for a week,” Daemon reported. “Considering just how many potential candidates there are in line for heirship, this is probably nothing more than the Tsow wanting to show off his family to Teo-jiji, and for the old man to at least lay eyes on a potential heir.”

“But we’ll be on guard just in case it’s more than that. Lord knows that Teo-jiji is like the worst kind of Slytherin.”

“So, shifts?” he asked. “Six hours on? Preferably send them packing early so we’re shot of them?”

His Mists grinned in unison.

“Sometimes I wonder if we’re doing too much,” he said quietly, his mood shifting suddenly to depression. “But we don’t know what we’re doing, even though we’ve done it so many times. I can’t not prevent him being sealed. It’d be too much like a betrayal of self. If they don’t try, ensure they think the child is functionally flameless or so weak that he would never activate them. If they do, well, we’ll just fake them out.”

“Considering you had a message waiting for you this time, we know some entity is directing all this,” Chikusa said just as quietly.

Heul shrugged. “Anyway. Let’s save the poor kid from being sealed. And, to change the subject, Estraneo update, please.”

“Their plans have advanced. They’re set to start experimenting on their own children within the next few weeks,” Mukuro reported.

“And somehow … this isn’t grounds for a major ass-kicking,” he said. “Of course, if it were, we could openly take out certain people in Bovino, too.” The temptation was there, to take out known defects, every time, to be some sort of parody of Giotto’s original intent, a twisted form of superhero amongst the mafiosi. He once thought he knew the purpose, but that was another mistaken assumption. Once again he heaved a quiet sigh and resolved to just let it go, because until the purpose was made known, he was chasing nothing but vapor.

Iemitsu arrived in a splash of colour. Orange, white—he reminded Heul of a creamsicle—and that ridiculous jump suit, a pickaxe hanging at his side, and muddy boots. Heul sometimes wondered if those boots were constructed to have fake mud on them, but then realized Nana would likely send herself into a never-ending cleaning frenzy trying to fix the perceived problem.

“What’s sad is, I bet Fūta would still rank those two as the number one loving couple in the mafia.”

His family nodded in response.

“Shouldn’t it be a criminal offense to be that delusional?” Chikusa asked.

Teo-jij was dressed as always. Armani, Gucci—Heul was not well enough acquainted with fashion to know, nor did he care enough to bother. He had a long, white, silk scarf around his neck, the ends dangling close to his knees, and a cane in one hand—his sceptre, disguised.

The Tsow was dancing around the room with Nana, both of them acting like fools, as Daemon and Mukuro watched from the fringes of _Between_. He could tell where they were, even through the windows, but not see them.

Mukuro was the one watching the Tsow like a bird of prey just waiting to stoop, to rip the man’s laughing face right off his skull.

Sin squeezed his shoulder. “Some heavy thoughts there,” he murmured.

He was twenty-five years old, the longest he had lived in any life. The very thought was frightening in a way. He exhaled as a laughing Nana dragged her husband into the kitchen and plied him with far too much food and alcohol.

He should be happy, not depressed or bitter or resentful. He had his dearly loved family, he had Sin, and he would save himself, again.

“Yes,” he murmured back. “Not sure why now, but…”

Sin’s breath ghosted over his neck and cheek. “I’ll help you chase them away. Always.”

Heul smiled and nodded, turning briefly to capture Sin’s lips with his.

It was not until after the Tsow had sated (one of) his appetite(s) that any thought at all was given to young Tsuna, who was blithely ignoring the adults, upstairs in his room with a picture book, slowly sounding out the words in the most adorable way—and didn’t Heul feel a bit odd gushing over how cute his child self was.

“You are so scrumptious as a child,” Bael said, “all fluffy hair and big eyes and how on Earth did _that man_ ever have anything to do with your creation.”

“I prefer to consider it a Cosmic quirk,” he replied.

The Tsow ripped the child away from his book, ignoring his cry of unhappiness, then proceeded to toss the child up over and over again, coming dangerously close to bashing the small head against the ceiling more than once. The child was caught again, hauled off downstairs and out the sliding door leading to the walled-in back yard, and tossed up again.

Heul watched with loathing bubbling up like acid as the Tsow missed.

Mukuro reacted by forcing Iemitsu to trip on his way to laughingly snatch the child up again. The Tsow went head first into the tree back there and knocked himself out. Heul didn’t doubt for a second that his Mist ensured the man’s unconsciousness.

Nana raced to her husband’s side, fluttering in distress. She was too weak to do anything like drag or carry him into the house, and Teo-jiji was too dignified. The child used that as an excuse to escape and whisked off straight to the library on the other side of Namimori, one of Heul’s windows following him.

“What are the odds that the Tsow would have traumatized the child so badly that he honestly feared for his life and burst into flames?” Ken said in a growly voice.

“Fuckin’ tempted to go set off a bomb at the Iron Fort,” Hayato said stiffly. “Something to draw them away. But I know that would only delay matters. These _idiote_ need to get their eyeful first.”

“And I’m starting to get a hankering for a little kin-slaying. Once again Enrico is old enough to take over, is at least half decently trained, and Teo-jiji clings to his power like a miser to his money. Maybe not death,” he said. “An illness?”

Nana brought folding chairs out to where the Tsow was sprawled, then returned shortly thereafter with a small table and a tea tray. They sat and drank tea and chattered about utterly inconsequential things like neighborhood gossip, and Teo-jij maintained an interested and engaged look on his face that was so false it hurt.

The Tsow woke up a few minutes later, confused and possibly concussed. He fumbled his way into a folding chair and accepted a cup of tea. Nana, now that all was again right in her world, went back to chattering away. The men nodded at all the right times, Iemitsu’s more spaced out than comprehending, until Nana jumped up, apologized, and dashed off to start preparing a meal, never mind that she had just fed her husband enough food for a small army less than an hour previous.

“Is it any wonder my original life was such a colossal fuck-up? Any thoughts on an appropriate illness?”

“Uncontrolled syphilis?”

“Leprosy?”

“Mad cow disease?”

“Shigellosis?”

Heul perked up. That one could be nasty in children and older people, sometimes resulting in an extended hospital stay, and complications were not unknown. It would be one way to put both men out of the picture for a while without necessarily killing them. “I like it,” he said happily. “Make it so, my beloved family.”

Bael cackled in unison with Xeul and the two of them went into a huddle.

Teo-jiji was giving the Tsow a tolerant look. In response Iemitsu smiled obliviously. Iemitsu and Nana were a match made in Hell, seriously. Little Tsuna was happily surrounded by books and had one open in front of him; he was back to slowly sounding out the words.

Out of sight, out of mind. It seemed to work just fine once his Mists tinkered and tampered and meddled. Heul was frustrated enough with the entire situation that he made sure the little one was out of the way and went in personally to play the role of child Tsuna.

An old favorite was pulled out of a metaphorical closet and, when Iemitsu accidentally laid eyes on his “adorable little tuna fish”, Heul screamed his lungs out in an excellent show of hysterical terror before dashing away, cradling his elbow—the same one the local Tsuna bruised when he landed badly.

It took less than a day to drive the two men away after he shrugged on that role again.

The local Tsuna was just happy the weird, scary man was not infringing on his story time any longer.

Heul radiated happiness when he learned that the Tsow and Teo-jiji were laid up in the hospital with horrific diarrhea, abdominal cramps, not-quite-projectile vomiting, and, as a capper, an infection in their blood. Their kidneys weren’t looking so hot, either.

“I love my family,” Heul muttered as he worked on baking a cheesecake or six. Now that the idiots were out of the way, he could work on befriending the household next door, and whichever Mists were in the mood could ensure that those two men enjoyed a long stay at the hospital with sponge baths and bedpans.

Daemon slid onto a seat and gave him an understanding look. “Heul darling, we need to talk you back from the edge you’re teetering on.”

He looked up, surprised. “What are you talking about?”

“Heul,” Daemon said softly. “You’ve been … depressed. This isn’t like you, at all. You’ve angsted, for fuck’s sake. So talk to me.”

He sighed and opened another package of cream cheese. “I’m older than I’ve ever been. I’m just waiting for the other shoe to drop. I love you guys so much and I’m so happy we’re a family, but I’m worried that when we do go that Sin won’t come with us. I keep thinking about when it all falls apart again and we have to start over and I’m just tired.”

“Let’s take the next one off, then,” Daemon said. “You know we’d never…”

“I know,” he said softly. “This has been a very weird life.”

Nana, of course, was delighted to make the acquaintance of the family next door, and didn’t bat an eye over the fact that it consisted entirely of men. She accepted a cheesecake with a burble of happiness and invited them in. She had the self-preservation instincts of a dead duck.

Little Tsuna was a bit shy, but when Bael went over to help him read his book, the boy turned into sunshine and happiness and the precursor of charm that could and would net him a family of devoted guardians.

“Assuming he lives so long,” was the unspoken thought, but with Bael there to keep an eye on the child, he should grow and prosper and live a decent or even good life.

Their manor now boasted three children, Mukuro, Chikusa, and Ken, protected and loved and taught. Tsuna was drawn into that group, carefully, slowly, tenderly. That there were numerous cats wandering around just made Tsuna more likely to want to come over.

It was understood by the children that the manor house belonged to Bael, that the others were just guesting there for a while. It was mostly in preparation for the time that they would leave, so that none of the boys would get too comfortable with the idea of them always being there, ready to teach, to answer questions, and guide.

Due to Timoteo’s lingering illness he was forced to hand over the reins to Enrico. That sent one potential path down the drain. Tsuna could never be Decimo. Undicesimo was up for grabs, though.

The Tsow, being younger and in better overall health, recovered from his illness and went back to being the buffoon of CEDEF. Lal probably had even less patience for his idiocy, but it looked bad on a person’s CV to have “murdered the boss in a fit of pique” on it.

“It _is_ a shame,” Sin commented on hearing that. “Most anyone who’s had experience with him wants very much to torture and kill the man. Equally a shame is that most of those people work for Vongola, which makes it doubly an issue.”

“I wonder what would happen if we ended up entering a world early enough that we could delay that conception by even a few seconds,” Heul mused. “Would a completely different person be born?”

“Perhaps,” Sin replied, “but then _you_ wouldn’t be born, and the world would be a poorer place.”

“Mmmm, not true? I mean, after all, I’m sometimes born as someone else~!”

Sin smiled indulgently. “Yes, you are, but even then a Tsuna is born. And speaking of Tsuna, what do you think of the idea of warding that house with runes. An anchored Bounding Box is wonderful and Bael could be the one to do it, but runes don’t just vanish when the person who carved them leaves.”

“Huh,” he said after a moment. “Excellent idea. We’ll need to work out the runic scheme first, and then divert those two on a holiday or use Mist to prevent them from waking up while we work or anyone from noticing. Fire, flood, theft, enmity…” He hunted down a spare notebook and a pencil and got to work listing out the potential functions of the as yet theoretical wards.

He and Sin made an afternoon of it, though he had to fend off more than one suggestion to toss the notebook into storage and go have some fun.

Tsuna woke up to find himself reading documents at a table in a place he had no recollection of.

‘Ah, sorry, Heul darling,’ Daemon said. ‘I woke up first and decided to hijack your body so I could figure out where we are.’

“And?” he asked, feeling a bit out of sorts and more than a little annoyed. His hands looked suspiciously like his proper ones and was clearly an adult.

It had been a normal enough day when it happened.

They had decided to take the children to an aquarium, to teach them about water life and sea life and water-related plant life, and basically try to slide in some education under the guise of having fun. (That was the proper way to teach the young, right? Trick them into it?)

It was just his luck.

Bael had taken up bathroom duty and was supervising the four boys. Heul and the rest had wandered into the tunnel so they could admire the swimmers to the sides and overhead, and how the corrupted light reflected oddly as it passed over the floor.

That was when a salaryman came in. He looked weary, almost defeated, in his standard grey suit, glasses, and sober tie. In one hand he carried the requisite briefcase and a cell phone peeked out of his pocket, squawking intermittently with incoming messages.

Heul paid the man no especial attention. You saw men like that every day in Japan, often with premature balding, and carrying an air of quiet desperation—or drunkenness and displaced ties if they had most recently been spending the evening with coworkers at the nearest bar.

What he did not expect, at all, was for his intuition to kick in just a tiny bit too late—which is what clued him in to his impending doom and soon to be state of “pushing up daisies”—as the salaryman made a furtive movement and followed up by hitting something on the screen of his phone.

The next thing Heul knew there was an explosion, he had a huge shard of glass (or whatever it was they used for the tunnel walls) sticking out of his jugular, and he was being nibbled on by piranhas.

‘Well,’ Daemon said, ‘we appear to be in the United States, in a bunker set up by something called the Men of Letters.’

‘What the fuck,’ he heard Sin say flatly.

Tsuna heaved a sigh.

‘You woke up shortly after I sat us down and found that,’ Daemon finished.

An investigation (once Tsuna finished swearing under his breath in sixteen languages) revealed that they were in a world where the supernatural preyed on the natural, and the bunker they were in—how he got there was still unknown, especially as he appeared to be an adult Tsuna according to a look into a mirror in one of the bedrooms—was a safehouse for said Men of Letters, a place of research, and a place where hunters of the supernatural could get some information.

Why the door leading out of the compound was locked up tight he had no clue, because he did not seem to have a key to that door, nor did he figure he could have fit in through any of the narrow ventilation shafts.

The only food in the place was canned goods from the fifties, which did not bode well at all.

Tsuna pulled a granola bar out of storage to eat, had a butterbeer, then opened a window to the previous dimension in for-your-eyes-only mode.

Bael did a double-take and sighed. Flame writing went up a moment later: Catch me at the house in an hour, maybe two. The kids are understandably upset.

Tsuna nodded and closed the window, then slammed his hand against the nearby wall. “This is going to be a holiday, damn it. I don’t care if the kami-damned apocalypse is scheduled to start next week! I am taking a fucking holiday.”

‘Motion carried!’ Mukuro said.

“So, which shall we do first,” he said, opening a window to his own mindscape so he could actually see his family. “Bodies or research?”

“Bodies,” Ken said, “please. And food. We missed out on lunch, damn it!”

Tsuna chuckled to himself. “Any preferences on which country we hit for bodies?” While his family members bickered over that he opened a second window and acquired what he needed to toss together a few sandwiches and have a meal as opposed to a snack. After that, as he was waiting out the time until he could contact Bael again, he set to poking around the massive library.

Two hours later he had a cross-dimensional window open, at the manor house, and Bael was giving him an exasperated look.

“I eased them off into a nightmare-free nap,” Bael said. “Seriously? The powers that be couldn’t have waited until the kids were not in any way involved? I’ll probably be dealing with nightmares for the next six months.”

Tsuna gave him a helpless, crooked smile. “We seem to have ended up in the United States this time and, as you can see, I am myself … somehow. Will you let Reborn know what happened?”

“Yes, of course. I still expect regular deliveries of your divine cooking, Heul,” Bael said sternly, his eyes promising a reign of Hell on Earth if he was deprived.

“You’ll get them,” he promised. After they signed off he said, “Have you guys decided on a country yet?”

“Japan,” was the consensus.

“All right, then. Let’s go hunting for some hopefully flame-bearing defects.”


End file.
